


A Tale of Two Toms

by Dragonanzar, VoidRealmer



Series: The Misfit Adventures of Dimension-Travelling Tom and Harry [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Tom Riddle, Collars, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Immortality, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Master/Slave, Mention of Potter Puppet Pals, Non-Sexual Slavery, Non-Sexual Submission, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Potter Puppet Pals, Punishment by Magic, Slave Tom Riddle, Slavery, aka Vickironica, one of the authors sucks at tagging and it's me, one of them at least - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:55:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24988651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonanzar/pseuds/Dragonanzar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidRealmer/pseuds/VoidRealmer
Summary: What do you get when you take one Harry and Tom pairing, bound together by chains of slavery, throw in a pinch of a dimension-hopping Riddle, stir it together with anachronistic memes, and top with a dash of angst? A distinct lack of sanity for all parties involved, apparently.(Starts at the end of Ch1 of The Corruption of Power by Dragonanzar and combines with Vickironica’s Mod!Harry and Tom to create a horrible (yet wonderfully cracky) crossover.)
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: The Misfit Adventures of Dimension-Travelling Tom and Harry [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808896
Comments: 32
Kudos: 71





	1. What Was Lost in the War (their sanity, apparently)

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo again friendos. It is me, Tori, posting this. Dragon is currently.. sleeping, and so I am here posting this. I have nothing to say except that I started crying from laughing so hard writing this, and that we also maybe plan to get together next week to write more ;D
> 
> This whole thing is horrible and I love every word of it.
> 
> Make sure you read Dragonanzar's 'The Corruption of Power' first before reading this, or nothing will make sense!! As for Vickironica's Tom and Harry, there aren't actually any stories that explain the backstory for them yet, but one has been.. vaguely... written. However, you can read Vickironica's 'Until We Meet Again' for an idea of how these two dorks normally act, because they are techincally the same characters. As in, they share like half a brain cell and Harry usually has it. (Feel free to ask question in the comments!!)

“Harry, for the  _ last time, PINEAPPLE DOES NOT GO ON PIZZA.” _

“Tom, for the  _ last time, YES IT DOES.” _

Tom raised his hand in a vaguely threatening manner, as if he were about to summon Fiendfyre and burn down... not sure what exactly, because they’re in the void and there’s nothing here. And it couldn’t be Harry, so neither of them really had any idea why he was even going through the motions.

Harry watched Tom as he realized the same thing, as if there were any other option to do, and slowly put down his hand and sighed. “Harry, as much as I absolutely  _ adore _ you, pineapple on pizza is just.. No. It’s just a no. I would literally rather be sent to some weird-ass dimension then deal with you and your pizza.”

Tom seemed to realize exactly what he said the same time Harry did, because Harry started grinning with a horrible idea in mind. As in, he was gonna send Tom to another dimension so Tom can avoid dinner. Of course.

“Well,  _ if you insist.” _

Tom, never one to back down, tried to nod his head in agreement but was long gone already falling through a portal into a new dimension, because Harry couldn’t ever just leave it like a doorway and instead had to give Tom multiple heart attacks.

In another dimension...

“Does my master not enjoy seeing his slave on his knees?” Tom asked Harry neutrally. The boy stilled, staring into the fire.

“Do I enjoy it?” his master repeated softly, musingly. “Actually, as much as I hate to recognise it in myself, yes.” He twisted his head and looked Tom directly in the eyes. At the fiery embers glowing in those emeralds, Tom almost recoiled. Instead, though, he found a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. His erstwhile nemesis still felt something for him – he could still kindle strong emotions.

“For what you did to the Boneses, the Smiths, the Petersons, the McKinnons, the Wilsons, the Johnsons, the Woods, the Robinsons and everyone else who died by your wand or by the wands of your Death Eaters, on your orders, I would gladly see you suffer a lot more than simply  _ kneeling _ .”

“Then why don’t you, master?” Tom challenged, not quite sure why he did so. Perhaps the last few months had made him more reckless because he had less to lose. Although, was that true? His mind for one had never been this much under threat. So why? The boy sat back and the intensity in his eyes faded.

“Because it would make me feel worse than it would you,” he replied simply. Tom frowned, unable to understand that. His master continued speaking. “So you don’t need to worry,  _ Tom _ – I’m not going to come into your room in the middle of the night and curse you, because with that collar on your neck, you  _ are _ helpless. And torturing the helpless has always been Voldemort’s thing, not mine. But if you act like Voldemort in any way..” he trailed off, but Tom could finish the sentence himself. If he acted like Lord Voldemort, he would be treated like him, and that meant all bets were off.

A silence fell between them, somehow not uneasy as their frank discussion had cleared the air slightly between them, but not comfortable either. It was broken by a small sound. A small sound that got increasingly louder. Tom looked at his master’s face, only to see a frown.

“Tom...do you hear that?” the boy asked. Before Tom could reply, there was a sudden flash of light that drew their attention up to the ceiling. A hole had opened in the plaster, but not through to the room above. Instead, it seemed to open onto a black void, something which Tom almost expected to show twinkling of stars, so alike to Space was it. 

Suddenly, another flash of light almost blinded them, and someone was falling through, landing in a crumpled heap on the ground. The person groaned, probably in pain, and for a second, Harry swore that that voice sounded familiar, but it was hard to place.. Tom in turn felt that he was sure he recognised that hair from somewhere. Shocked by the sudden appearance, they were both silent.

“Uggghhh, remind me why I couldn’t have just died in the womb,” the man muttered, slowly getting himself into a sitting position and dusting himself off. He looked up and froze, or at least looked taken aback.

“What in Merlin’s name..?” exclaimed Harry as the face of the interloper was revealed. Tom couldn’t agree more. The person who had just invaded their sitting room was...himself? Tom’s master leapt from his chair, his wand flicking out from his sleeve. “Who are you?!” he demanded. Tom just watched - it wasn’t as if he could do anything without a wand.

“I’m him, but better,” Imposter Tom replied, pointing at Harry’s Tom, and wasn’t that a weird thought.

“...What?” Harry asked, in confusion. Could this be a horcrux? But he’d thought Lady Magic had restored Tom’s soul completely. Could She have... missed a piece? Was it possible for the embodiment of magic to make a mistake?

“Better?” spluttered native Tom. 

“Well, yeah, better. We’ve got to differentiate between us somehow, because I believe I’m stuck in this dimension for a while,” Imposter Tom shrugged. “Of course, you could always just call me Tim or something. That’s what.. Nevermind,” He trailed off.

OK, Harry was now even more confused, and starting to doubt that this was actually a horcrux. He really couldn’t imagine any version of Tom  _ willingly _ offering to be called...Tim. But if this wasn’t actually Tom...who was it? He decided that he’d had enough of the situation - after a long day at Hogwarts, then the whole mess with his Tom - wait, what? - he was out of patience for this interloper. 

“ _ Incarcerous _ ,” he cast, ropes shooting out of the tip of his wand to bind the stranger.

Imposter Tom’s (Tim??) eyes widened, before he seemed to turn some sort of translucent and the ropes went right through his body. “Y’all are fiends, shooting an innocent person like this.”

Harry and Tom just gaped at him. Then Harry’s eyes narrowed. He had missed it at first, so used to seeing it on his Tom - which still felt strange to think - but the stranger actually had a collar around his throat, just like the Tom kneeling on the ground. And just like Harry’s Tom, it  _ also _ had a sideways eight on the front...which shouldn’t be possible. Which just left one conclusion in Harry’s mind. He rounded on Tom, his Tom, that is.

“How did you gain access to your magic?!” he demanded angrily. The Tom kneeling on the ground stared at him, an expression of complete bewilderment on his face.

“Master?”

(Under his breath, the other Tom muttered, “Kinky, I like it.”)

“How did you cast an illusion? Or create another homunculus? Was  _ this _ what you were plotting - create a double to take your place as a slave and then escape to become Lord Voldemort once more?!” A part of Harry knew that he was jumping to conclusions, but the rest of him was being consumed by the anger that his slave had done something so...stupid. And obvious.

(Under his breath again, Tom started mumbling a song, “Voldemort, Voldemort, ooh Voldy Voldy Voldy Voldy  _ Volemort!” _ from Potter Puppet Pals.)

Tom frowned, wincing as the collar sparked with his master’s anger.

“Master, I don’t understand what you mean! I didn’t cast any magic.” Harry stared at him angrily, but the sincerity in his eyes and the fact that his collar wasn’t punishing him for lying made him, reluctantly, believe his slave’s words.

“Then how do you explain  _ him _ ?” Harry asked, waving vaguely in the direction of the Tom sitting on the floor eating popcorn. Wait, when did he get popcorn? And  _ where?  _ Harry dismissed the thought, focusing on what was important. “And how the  _ incarcerous _ flew right through him.” He hesitated for a moment. “He couldn’t be a...ghost, could he?”

Tom shot him a withering look. 

“He’s eating  _ popcorn _ . When was the last time you saw a ghost eating popcorn?” he asked with derision. “Master,” he added on as an afterthought. They both turned and looked at the figure on the floor, taking in all the details: the hair which looked so similar to Tom’s; a pair of black jeans; a bright red T-shirt with ‘ask me about my fanfiction’ written in large, white letters that he would never have imagined Tom wearing, not in a million years; the collar; and bright red eyes. Harry realised that the last were the main difference between his Tom and the interloper, apart from the T-shirt, that is, as they were much brighter than he’d ever seen either Tom’s or Voldemort’s eyes. 

Seeing that Harry was completely flummoxed and uncertain about what to do, Tom decided to actually  _ ask _ the elephant in the room - or, the imposter Tom at least. But first, the most important question.

“So,  _ Tim _ ,” he drawled. “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?!”

“Uhhhh, khakis?” The imposter replied, seemingly on instinct, but then actually responded, “I’m not sure how to answer that, because it’s... Literally a t-shirt and jeans?? I can see you wearing them, so I know that they exist here, and like, how is that your first question, you know, besides the whole “who are you??” spiel and whatnot. I mean, there is this really fancy schmancy collar I seem to have, and you also seem to have, and if that’s what you’re asking about then I’m afraid I know very little about it, so.”

Tom leant back, worried the verbal diarrhea was catching. Then, when it seemed to have finished, he responded, a glint in his eyes.

“You may very well think that it was a strange question, but in fact, it proves that your initial statement of being a  _ better version _ of me, is fallacious. I would  _ never _ wear something so...Gryffindorish. So, who are you?” Harry just watched, starting to find the whole situation amusing despite himself. 

Imposter Tom looked at other Tom’s clothes and wondered what in the world he was talking about. “Like I said, I’m you, but better. Also old as frick and ready to die whenever death wants to hit me up, but uhh, I’m actually Tom Riddle from an alternate dimension. My dimension is long gone at this point, but thanks to my wonderful husband, who is trying to poison me currently, we’re able to travel through dimensions and whatnot. So, here I am,” he explained, before looking over at Harry. “Speaking of that, if he ever really pisses you off make him eat pineapple pizza.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Harry said with a bemused tone. He leant forwards, leaning on his knees. “So, say we believe you’re from a different dimension -”

“Master! He’s  _ obviously _ lying about that,” Tom interrupted. “How could he be  _ me _ from a different dimension, for Merlin’s sake?” Harry shot his Tom an annoyed look at the interruption. “Sorry, master,” the man muttered rebelliously as his collar shocked him. Harry looked back at the other Tom.

“So, as I was saying. Say we believe you. If you’re this...uh, ‘old as frick’ being who can travel through dimensions, why exactly are you  _ here _ ?”

“I was avoiding dinner, to be honest. I would swear my husband is trying to kill me, except he knows that I’m immortal and therefore is just trying to ruin my entire existence with pineapple on pizza. I mean, who does that?!” Imposter Tom glared at the place where the hole in the ceiling had been, about to flip it off but deciding to hold back.

“Husband?” exclaimed native Tom. Harry shot him a look.

“You’ve only got that  _ now?” _ he asked dryly. Tom glared at his master, before turning that glare onto the imposter. 

“I would never get  _ married! _ You must be lying.” 

“Dude, I’m the one who  _ proposed. _ Then again, it had been six thousand years and he still had no idea that I even  _ liked  _ him, and when I told him “I’m in love with someone but they’re very stupid” he responded with “Well maybe you’re being too subtle, just come out and say that you love them” and so I literally told him “I love you” and he went, “See! Just like that, now go tell them.” and I’m still not letting him forget that.” Harry couldn’t help laughing out loud. He knew he wasn’t the most observant of people himself, but that seemed really obtuse even for him! 

“Who is your husband?” he asked, curious as to whether it was someone with whom he was familiar. 

The Imposter Tom stared directly at Harry with an indecipherable look, as if  _ Harry  _ out of anybody should know the answer to that question. Quietly, almost too quietly, a direct contrast from his apparent talkative nature, the other Tom murmured, “The Master of Death.” Harry frowned. 

“Like in that story about the Three Brothers?” Imposter Tom gave him a weird look.

“You mean you- I mean, no one’s united the Hallows here?” Other Tom looked startled. Harry shrugged. 

“Not to my knowledge. I thought it was just a fairy tale.” Native Tom made a noise of agreement.

“Damn wand was supposed to be powerful, but my original was better,” he commented.

“It would never obey you. It had already claimed a master by the time you had ever held it,” Imposter Tom replied.

“Who?!” Tom demanded angrily.

“Speaking of masters,” Harry interjected, ignoring his slave’s outrage. “If you’re from a different dimension, why exactly do you have Tom’s, my Tom’s, collar round your neck?”

“ _ My Tom _ ?” muttered the native Tom with angered bewilderment.

“Well, would you first mind explaining to me exactly what this does?” Imposter Tom asked, feeling around the collar.

“You mean you  _ don’t _ normally have it?” Harry asked with interest.

Imposter Tom (ImposTom??) paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to word it. “Not this variant, usually. It’s different wherever I go. Actually, I think one of my favorites was when the collars all had a giant bomb inside them and if you tried to run or take it off they would explode and kill the slave. Good times.”

Harry looked at his Tom’s face. His slave looked as if he was torn between disbelief and horror at the thought. 

“Right…” Harry responded, not sure himself whether to believe it or not. “Moving on.  _ This _ variant is a behaviour-correction device. Basically, it sends pain if the slave disobeys orders. I think it also sends pleasure if the slave obeys. It also stops him from hurting or killing people and from leaving the building without me. Uh...there’s a guidebook, if you want to read it?”

“I might as well,” ImposTom shrugged. He waved his hand, and suddenly the same guidebook Harry was talking about appeared in his hand. While both Harry and native Tom were in complete shock about this other Tom using magic, the other Tom skimmed through the book in a matter of half a minute. “Okay, the book has been read. What now?”

“How did you do that?” asked Tom slowly, suddenly hoping beyond hope that the appearance of this other  _ Tom _ had somehow disrupted the collar’s enchantment enough to allow him to...He turned to Harry and cast  _ stupefy _ , expecting the red light to flood from his palm. There was a beat where he looked at his empty hand in disbelief, and then the pain hit. 

Agony. Worse than anything he had ever felt, and that included all the pain which the collar had given him so far. Absently, in some small corner of his mind that wasn’t screaming in absolute anguish, he realised that by attacking his master without permission, he had committed the worst crime a slave could do. 

Harry looked at Tom with a mixture of resignation, and disappointment that the man had been so...Gryffindor-like. Seriously, he understood that the man would curse him at the first possible opportunity, but by doing it when he wasn’t even  _ sure _ the collar wouldn’t activate...Well, he deserved what he got really. Turning back to the Impostor Tom, he repeated the question - Tom had had a point.

“If you’re wearing the collar, does that mean you’re bound by its rules? And if so, who’s your master, according to it?” Because so help him, if he had picked up another unwanted Tom Riddle stray…

“My master? I would say you know him quite well, actually.” ImposTom broke out into a grin, the likes of which Harry had literally never seen before on any Tom Riddle and was quite horrified to see. “Severus Snape.” Harry wasn’t sure whether to be even further horrified or rather intrigued at the circumstances which must have happened to lead to  _ that _ result. Tom, on the other hand, having finally recovered enough from the pain to push himself back into a kneeling position, almost fell over again from shock.

“ _ Severus Snape _ ?!” he squeaked in a voice that he would later insist was more like a manly groan of anguish. That was  _ worse _ than being enslaved to  _ Harry Potter _ for Merlin’s sake!

Other Tom laughed, obviously enjoying their pain. (Perhaps he wasn’t that different after all.) “Nah, I’m joking. My master is Harry Potter.” Harry almost choked on his own saliva.

“Don’t tell me I've been landed with  _ another one _ ?” he moaned.

“ _ Another one _ ?” native Tom demanded in outrage. “You should be grateful to have  _ one _ of my superior selves!” he exclaimed at Harry angrily. “Master,” he added on angrily as the collar shocked him. Harry just looked at him, his eyes lingering pointedly on the trembling still in his limbs from the punishment he’d just brought on himself by attacking his master. 

“Frankly, I could have done without  _ you _ ,” he said wryly. “But unfortunately Lady Magic had other ideas.” He turned back to ImposTom with an expectant look on his face.

“You’re stuck with me forever, oh master oh mine!” Other Tom smirked, which was a much more familiar look on his face. “I mean, unless you don’t want to, in which case-” He brought his hands up to the collar and unclasped it without a single pause, then twirled it around his finger, showing it off.

Native Tom just gaped, envy in his eyes as he lifted his hands to his own neck and felt for whatever the other Tom had obviously done to release the collar, only to find it as seamless as usual. Harry instead just leaned back in his chair, his gaze measuring. By this point, Tom had resorted to hooking his fingers between the collar and his neck to pull it off, tugging fruitlessly. Harry wondered  _ why _ exactly he continued to try and copy the other Tom, despite everything so far pointing to the fact that, for all that they looked so similar, they were actually very, very different people. The only thing he could think of as an explanation was that Tom simply could not conceive of a reality where he  _ wasn’t _ the smartest, most powerful person in the room. 

ImposTom watches Harry’s Tom for a while, amused at how he’s failing miserably. After a moment, he clicks the collar back on his neck, like it had never been taken off. “I’m not- I’m not Voldemort. I haven’t been him in a very long time, and I have no wish to be anything like him. He.. He hurt you a lot, my version of you, and I still regret ever becoming him. So if you would like me to be your slave while I’m here, I will, but if not, I can also be your friend.” Harry looked at him for a moment, a long moment.

“So, if I told you to come and kneel in front of me here, would you?” he asked in a curious tone. 

Other Tom cocked his head to the side, letting his bangs fall onto his forehead. “Of course, if that is what you wish.” Harry met his eyes, seeing the sincerity within them, then shook his head.

“I don’t need another slave,” he snorted in amusement, casting a glance over at the Tom who had finally stopped trying to get the collar off and was back to glaring at his counterpart. “Frankly, I’ve got my hands full with him...but I could always use another friend.”

“You’ll always be my friend, no matter what realm I’m in, or no matter if you treat me as your slave or not,” Tom smiled, and it looked genuine for once (unlike his Tom).

Native Tom scoffed, glaring at ImposTom. 

“How you could ever think you’d convince us that  _ you’re _ Tom Riddle when you’re so...so  _ weak _ ?!”

“I mean,” Other Tom started, “I don’t really believe I have to prove  _ to myself _ that I am  _ myself _ , but if you really want I can speak Parseltongue, or like six hundred different languages, or like, we can duel if your Harry would approve, seeing as one of us has our magic bound, and it isn’t me. Orrrrr, a better idea! We can eat dinner, and then maybe duel afterwards.”

“Good idea, “ said Harry with amusement. “Tom, I think it’s your turn to make dinner.” Looking thoughtful, he met Other Tom’s eyes. “Do you want to join him? It’s up to you, but I’ve got some work I need to do, so if you stay here, you’ll have to be quiet.” 

“I can certainly try.” Other Tom never expanded on that, instead starting to walk towards the kitchen.

.. Only to be met with a giant barrier that he ran straight into, head first. It wasn’t a small bump, it was like when Harry had tried to cross into Platform 9 ¾ back in second year and it ejected him with force.

Other Tom fell backwards, then groaned up at the ceiling. “Oh come on!! I only burnt down the kitchen once!”

Just as Harry was about to question exactly what that could possibly mean, and if he had somehow dodged a bullet having some weird barrier in his kitchen doorway, a tiny version of the portal from earlier opened up just long enough for a.. Ball?? To fly through and hit Other Tom straight in the forehead. It was covered in a note, which Other Tom deigned to ignore and instead lay on the ground.

Harry picked up the ball and took the note off it. Smoothing it out, he saw somewhat familiar handwriting scrawling over most of its surface. He read it out loud, “You burnt down the entire city block  _ three times, Tom!” _ , deciding to forgo reading it in all caps like it was written in.

“Did you really?” he asked the Tom lying prone on the floor, not sure whether he wanted to know the answer or not.

“I am.. Not the best cook.” No more was explained or said. Harry started looking worried for his kitchen before he remembered that his Tom had been cooking for several nights already without more than just burning the occasional dish. Eventually shrugging, he turned back to his Tom who was hovering in the doorway.

“Looks like you’re cooking on your own, then. What are you going to do then, uh, other Tom, um,  _ Tim _ ?” 

“You know, I just got some great inspiration for some crappy Tomarry fanfic to write, so I might write some notes for later.” Harry decided he  _ really _ didn’t want  _ more _ of this madness, but he couldn’t help the question from emerging.

“...Why does that sound like a mixture between my name and Tom’s…? Wait. Never mind.” He held up a hand as if to ward off a blow. “I don’t think I can take any of this right now. Charms is calling me anyway, so…” With that, he moved quickly over to his desk in the sitting room, collapsing in his desk chair with a book on Charms theory. 

“If you need help I’d be more than willing to! I only invented about sixteen new charms within the past fifty years or so,” Other Tom shouted after him, finally getting up from the floor to go lounge on the couch. Harry hesitated...it  _ would _ be useful to get some help with some of the questions that had come up that day with the theory tests…

“If you teach me, am I going to be infected with your madness?” he asked warily. It was a valid question, he defended in his own mind - the diary hadn’t exactly been innocuous, neither had the locket. So far he had the idea that  _ this _ Tom Riddle was surprisingly benign, but he wasn’t convinced about his sanity. 

“I cannot promise you one way or the other. However!” He whipped out a small.. Weird mirror? Out of his back pocket and started talking into it. “Hey Siri,” Harry felt a bolt of pain go through him at the name, and for a moment wondered whether this Tom would be summoning Sirius Black from his dimension, for some reason, “Do you think I’d drive Mr. Harry insane if I helped him with Charms?”

The weird device responded in a woman’s voice, “Opening the music app.”

“No!- Siri I absolutely loathe your existence.” Okay, that didn’t sound like Sirius Black in any shape or form, unless he had undergone a sex change when he’d tumbled through the veil. 

“Okay, I’ll remind you to make your bed at 3 A.M. tomorrow morning.”

“SIRI IF YOU DON’T DELETE THAT RIGHT NOW-” Harry decided that no help with Charms would be worth  _ this _ kind of madness, so swiftly erected a silencing barrier. Finally - peace and quiet!

Other Tom noticed the barrier and snorted, and then went back to his device and started tapping away at the screen.


	2. Memes and Dragons and Swords, Oh My

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Native Tom has a very very bad day, and it does not get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyoo, it's me, YA BOI. (Vickironica)
> 
> This new chapter is a riot and it's also one of the actual funniest things I've ever written.. until we get to the angst, that is. I mean- what angst?? This is all crack!! Hahaha... haha...
> 
> When Dragon and I were writing it, we really didn't plan for ANY of this to happen so. Hope y'all enjoy :D

Dinner was announced by Tom, Harry’s Tom, reappearing in the doorway and muttering resentfully about it. Tom (Tim) perked up, the idea of eating food for the first time in.. 5 hours? sounding delicious. Harry, on the other hand, still had the sound barrier up, so didn’t pay any attention. Rolling his eyes with an expression of irritation, Tom walked into the room and stood in front of Harry waving until he looked up. As soon as his master met his eyes, he resaid his words in a slightly more resentful tone, grumpy about having to repeat himself.

“What?” asked Harry, waving his wand to dispel the silencing bubble around him. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Tom repeated, his voice now resentful  _ and _ irritated. 

“OK, fine - you don’t have to be so grumpy about it,” Harry told him. Tom threw up his hands in disgust and stormed away into the kitchen. 

Other Tom yelled after him, “What’s for dinner, oh worse version of me?” No answer came from the kitchen, just the sound of barely audible curses. Harry looked at Tom, Tim, that is. 

“What’s up with him?” he asked. 

Tom shrugged. “Sexual frustration? Has he come out as exceedingly gay yet?” Harry stared at him.

“I...couldn’t possibly comment.” Frankly, the idea of  _ Voldemort _ actually having anything to do with sex was...repulsive to say the least. Although, Tom...well, Tom was a bit different, wasn’t he? And Tom was...a lot more attractive than a slit-nosed snake-hybrid...thing. “Uh, shall we go and find out what’s for dinner?” he asked, hoping to move the conversation on a bit from those uncomfortable thoughts. 

ImposTom seemed to know where Harry’s thoughts had gone and was grinning mischievously. “Of course. I’d like to see how good of a cook he is, to be honest. Merlin knows, which is a bad example because Merlin doesn’t care for my cooking skills at all, except for the time I almost burnt down the entire kingdom of Camelot, well- Merlin knows my Harry won’t let me cook.” Harry looked taken aback by the stream of consciousness which had poured out of Tom - perhaps the brief break of sanity with his Charms textbook had made him more sensitive again after his previous exposure. He wasn’t sure where to start.

“You knew Merlin?” seemed to be a good place, except, wait, “You almost burnt down Camelot?!”

“Nobody told me you’re not supposed to heat up hot pockets with medieval equipment. But yeah, Merlin was cool. Also some sort of twink and definitely screwing Arthur.”

Harry decided to stop asking questions. Every time he did, he just ended up with more. Not to mention all the weird images he  _ also _ gained, some of which he could do with having some brain-bleach or a carefully aimed  _ obliviate _ to get rid of. Fortunately, his inner debate on whether or not to ask Tom more questions about this so-called relationship between the two most famous figures of medieval literature was interrupted by his slave returning to find out what was keeping them.

“It’s getting cold,” snapped Harry’s Tom from the doorway. “Master,” he added on grudgingly after wincing as the collar punished him for his disrespect. 

“What’s for dinner, Tommy boi?” Tom, Harry’s Tom, glared at ImposTom. 

“That’s not my name, you...you Gryffindor-loving fool!”

“Listen, Godric Gryffindor was  _ hot,  _ okay? Why do people keep acting so surprised??” ImposTom wondered, sounding genuinely confused. Not that he was, he just liked messing with people.

“Is he your husband, then?” asked Harry with interest, while his Tom gaped with disgust at his counterpart. 

“Hell no. Godric was married to Slytherin.” At this, Harry’s jaw dropped and Tom’s...well, since he was already gaping, there wasn’t much change, but the fact that he was further shocked was shown by the almost glazed look that entered his eyes.

“You didn’t know? I mean, what did you think the Chamber of Secrets was for? It’s literally their weird sex dungeon.” This, of course, was a lie, but to be fair they did spend a lot of “bonding time” down there. Harry closed his mouth, but appeared to be going a little green.

“You know,” he said, sounding a bit nauseous, “that gives a  _ whole _ different take on the ‘snake going in and out of Slytherin’s mouth thing…” His Tom seemed to think about it for a moment and then clearly checked out of reality.

“The food’s getting cold,” he suddenly blurted. “I’m going to...um, I’m going to uh...I’m going.” And so saying, he turned and vanished like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. 

“But wait, don’t you want to know about-”

Harry cut him off. “No, I think we’re fine for now, thanks. You’ve given us...lots of food for thought.”

“Oh right, speaking of food!” Tom started, “I never got an answer! What’s for dinner??” Harry just sighed and led Tom down the hallway and the flight of stairs into the kitchen. 

Dinner appeared to be bolognaise (which is apparently a very specific kind of spaghetti). A simple, but tasty dish which Tom had become quite practised at during the last few dinners. Truthfully, he had been trying to annoy Harry by repeating the same dish every time he cooked, but so far, he wasn’t sure the boy had even noticed. 

“Ooooh, spaghetti!!” ImposTom immediately sat down, waiting for the food to be served. “Last time I tried to make spaghetti, I burned down the Fire Nation.” Native Tom placed a dish in front of Harry with a small thump.

“It’s not spaghetti, it’s spaghetti  _ bolognese _ , you ignorant fool,” he spat, dropped a plate in front of ImposTom from high enough above the surface that a splatter of sauce sprayed out onto the table and ImposTom himself. 

“You _fooél_. You absolute _buffoon_ , _”_ Tom mocked with a horrible French accent, then actually looked down at his plate. “Dang, Harry was _right_. I _am_ petty and dramatic!” ImposTom didn’t even seem to mind being splashed, because he was licking it all off with no hesitation, even lifting up his shirt to get a splash towards the bottom. “Not bad, not bad. I’ve tasted better, I’ve cooked worse.”

“From what you’ve been saying so far, that’s not setting the benchmark very high,” remarked Harry wryly. 

“I don’t deserve to be called out like this,” ImposTom replied indignantly. Native Tom seemed to have decided to block out the conversation as much as possible. Having served everyone at the table, he was now sitting down, wolfing down his food as quickly as possible, perhaps under the impression that the quicker he ate, the quicker he could leave this rapidly deteriorating situation. Clearing his plate he stood up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Harry lazily. 

“I’ve finished, master,” Tom replied as if it was obvious. 

“But neither I, nor our guest has…” Harry commented. 

“So…?” asked Tom, with a dawning sense of horror. 

“So, you’re not allowed to leave the table before we’re  _ all _ finished. It would be rude, after all, to leave our guest here on his own,” Harry told him virtuously. Tom slumped back into his seat, glaring at their ‘guest’ as if that would make him eat faster. 

ImposTom was taking his time, slurping up a single noodle at a time. “Truly a marvelous dish, but a little light on the.. Noodle,” he decided, munching on another single noodle.

“What do you mean, light on the noodle?” demanded Tom indignantly, offended at the criticism of a dish he felt he’d perfected. “All you’ve eaten are noodles!” 

“Yeah, but there’s not enough noodle, in my opinion. And according to you, Tom Riddle’s opinion is the only one that matters,” ImposTom nodded wisely, agreeing with his own statement.

Harry, looking at Tom, wondered if he was about to have an aneurysm - he was so red in the face.

“ _ My _ opinion is the only one that matters, and I am still not convinced that you are anything other than a  _ demon sent to plague me _ !”

“What about my opinion?” asked Harry with a slightly dangerous tone in his voice. Tom looked at him and blanched slightly.

“Of course your opinion is important, master,” he said in an attempt to calm his master down. Harry, of course, wasn’t at all angry, but he found it amusing to pretend he was. Frankly, when ImposTom wasn’t saying things that raised more questions than they actually answered and served to turn Harry’s world upside down, he was pretty amusing to have around. Harry thought it was delicious irony that Tom Riddle was actually Tom Riddle’s worst enemy. 

“Bold of you to assume you’d be important enough for a demon to even notice you. I know for a  _ fact _ that demons are very busy. Usually. Sometimes. Maybe. Okay yeah not really, but they still couldn’t care less about you,” ImposTom slurped one (1) noodle. Native Tom tapped one (1) finger on the table. 

A doorbell rang. Harry looked up and frowned. He didn’t have a doorbell… Also, how had anyone got close enough to the door to ring the doorbell (that he didn’t have) without him feeling them in the wards? He stood up. 

“Don’t kill each other while I’m gone,” he warned the two Toms. His Tom looked up and glared at him in response. ImposTom just looked up with the kind of innocent eyes normally found on puppies and kittens. With a final warning look at them, Harry walked out of the kitchen to answer the door. 

Outside was...a man. With a pizza. And a fake-looking moustache. A  _ very _ fake-looking moustache. Hang on, didn’t he look kinda familiar, like looking in the mirror, familiar? 

“I have the pizza you ordered,” the man told him with a wicked grin. Harry face-palmed.

“You’re Tom’s master, right?” he asked wearily. “And, I guess,  _ my _ counterpart from a different dimension?”

Out of nowhere, ImposTom came up from behind him and stared at the box. After a couple seconds, he grabbed the pizza box and literally threw it frisbee style across the yard without a single ounce of hesitation.

The other Harry didn’t even look surprised. Or mad. “You know, that was pepperoni.”

ImposTom narrowed his eyes in disbelief, and Harry (oh no, was he Native Harry now??) could finally understand how his Tom and this Tom could be the same person. “Was it.”

“Yah.”

“If I go over there and check, it will be pepperoni? It’s not going to be pineapple?”

“Yah.”

“.. I don’t believe you.”

Tom walked out into the yard, and for a second Harry wondered if ImposTom was going to get brutally shocked for leaving the house wards, but nothing happened. Tom prowled around the unassuming box for a moment, like some weird cat, and then finally, after sending one last glare towards his Harry, opened the box.

“Huh, perhaps it is pepperoni,” ImposTom admitted, grabbing one of the less-damaged slices and taking a bite.

Only to immediately spit it out.

“YOU FIEND OF A BRAT!” Tom turned around, throwing the slice with a true aim of someone who’s practiced his aim for a lot of years throwing Pokeballs. The slice of  _ pineapple pizza _ , which had been under an illusion to  _ look _ like pepperoni, hit Other Harry straight in the chest, though with the not-covered-in-sauce side hitting and then flopping on the ground with no damage done.

“Well that was anticlimactic,” Tom muttered, and was then on the ground in copious amounts of pain, though it honestly wasn’t as bad as native Tom made it out to be. It was like.. A Cruciatus, but Tom was already halfway immune to those.. Except from Harry, but let’s not talk about that.

Ah, so Tom’s collar  _ does  _ work, Native Harry mused. Perhaps it was like it had been with him and his Tom - the collar hadn’t been active until he had recognised his claim. 

Other Harry just watched this, looking far too amused in Native Harry’s opinion. He had kinda liked other Tom. “You deserved that!”

“You deserve my fist in your face!” Tom yelled back over.

“If you complete that sentence I’ll find out how to make that ongoing for our entire time here.” 

“So...would you like to come in?” asked Native Harry, trying to derail the rapidly deteriorating situation. 

Tom had already stood up and dusted his jeans off, then walked over to where both Harrys were standing. “Worse version, as in, less gay and more homicidial, of me made spaghetti.”

“And the house is still standing?” Other Harry asked incredulously.

“Apparently my Tom is a lot more trustworthy in the kitchen than your Tom,” commented Native Harry, “If his stories of almost burning down Camelot are true, that is.”

“They are.”

Tom glanced between both Harrys, looking half betrayed by the callout, and decided to get back to annoying the other Tom. “Oh worse version of me, where art thou? Has somebody  _ toucha my spaghet?!”  _ He dashed into the house, only to come back half a second later to rip off the very fake moustache his Harry was still sporting.

“Owwwwww,” Other Harry whined.

And true to the collar, Native Harry could see ImposTom flinch in what was probably excruciating pain, but to his credit, he didn’t react any further. Once he had recovered, he disappeared again into the house.

A few seconds pause, and then..  _ “SOMEBODY HAS TOUCHA’D MY SPAGHET!” _

Harry, Native Harry, turned to Other Harry after eyeing the empty doorway through which the utterances had issued. 

“Has Tom always been like... this?” Native Harry asked Other Harry quietly and seriously. “Or did you...tame him, somehow? How did he get like...this?”

Other Harry took his question into consideration, and then snorted. “Tom is the one who asked to be my slave. I only accepted his offer.” Native Harry stared at him.

“...In what situation did  _ Tom Riddle _ , the man who became Voldemort because he wanted to  _ control the Wizarding world _ , ever decide that he wanted to become a slave?”

“.. It’s been a  _ long _ time,” Harry murmured, the same tone his Tom had used when he’d described his husband. “Forever is a long time to spend by yourself, you know? And we only have each other.”

“And his husband, of course,” Native Harry commented.

“And his husband,” agreed Other Harry easily. Too easily. Native Harry eyed him with slight suspicion, but then dismissed it. If he couldn’t trust himself, who could he trust?

“But seriously, how did Tom ever get to the point where he wanted to become a slave? Merlin knows  _ my _ Tom would probably kill me without a second thought if he ever got free.”

“.. He’ll change. They always do, once meeting you.” Native Harry looked at him and saw the knowingness in his gaze.

“Huh,” he replied, thoughtfully. Well, that would probably be put to the test with  _ his _ Tom but… “How many of us have you met?” 

“Uh.. How many others have I met?” Other Harry pondered the question for a moment, then yelled into the kitchen. “Hey Tom, how many other Toms have we met?”

“Too many, darling,  _ too many. _ ”

“His husband lets him call you ‘darling’?” Harry asked, surprised, then shook the thought out of his head. “Never mind. Anyway, I guess this is all pretty normal for you, then, but...well, having two Toms around is an...experience. An experience I’m not sure  _ my _ Tom is going to survive with his sanity intact…”

Other Harry snorted again. “Bold of you to assume he has it in the first place.” A pause for a moment. “I heard my Tom mention a duel earlier?”

“...How did you hear  _ that _ ?” Harry asked, in surprise.

“I have my ways. This time, it’d be the fact that I was listening in because I wanted to see what Tom would try to eat now that pizza was off the list. Also because I had no clue which dimension I’d dropped him in, and I’d rather not have to piece him back together molecule by molecule again,” Other Harry stated, like that was an everyday occurrence.

“...Again?” Native Harry asked weakly before shaking his head violently. “Nope. I think I’ve reached my crazy limit for today. Shall we go inside? If the Toms have finished, we can go and see about that duel.” He paused for a moment before eyeing his counterpart warily. “Am I right in thinking he’s really going to get his ass kicked? My Tom, that is.”

“Depends. But most likely, yes.” Native Harry chuckled suddenly.

“Am I the only one who thinks that it’ll be pretty awesome to watch Tom Riddle taking Tom Riddle down a peg?”

Other Harry nodded in agreement and then they both disappeared into the house leaving a lonely pizza box lying in the front yard. 

As Native Harry led the way into the kitchen, he found the two Toms arguing over a plate of spaghetti. Stopping dead at the bottom, Other Harry still hidden in the shadows of the flight of stairs down, Native Harry noticed that his Tom was looking rather smug and felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Tom,” he said sternly. Both of them looked up. “ _ My _ Tom,” he clarified. “Not the dimension-travelling one. What did you do?” 

“You said I couldn’t leave the table until everyone had finished, master,” Tom explained, then stopped. 

“Go on,” Harry ground out. 

“So...I finished the plates. Mostly.”

Other Tom crossed his arms, looking like a grumpy toddler, in Native Harry’s important opinion, “He toucha’d my spaghet.” Native Harry shot him a look before looking back at his Tom. Sighing, he rubbed a hand across his face and turned to the Harry behind him.

“What would you do about this?” he asked wearily. 

“Well, Riddle,” Other Harry appeared behind Native Tom through a familiar-looking portal, who jumped in surprise and banged his hand on the table, “If you’ve already finished most of the plate, you might as well eat the rest.” Tom made a face. Looking between his master and this other Harry, a calculating look came into his eyes.

“And touch something  _ he’s  _ touched? I might catch some of his insanity,  _ Potter _ ,” he commented disdainfully. When his collar didn’t react to the use of Harry’s surname, his lips quirked in victory. 

“Famous  _ Pottah,  _ with his  _ scar _ and his  _ broomstick.” _ ImposTom mocked, grinning at his Harry. “Look how dramatic I am! Isn’t it the worst, Master?”

“Well,” Native Harry said finally, deciding that Tom’s pettiness, since it hadn’t seemed to have offended or even upset either of their guests - he didn’t count ImposTom’s little tantrum - wasn’t worth punishing. “Let’s go find a room where we can have a duel. I think there’s something like that in this house.... Unless you have any better ideas?” He turned towards Other Harry with a questioning look. 

“Perhaps a mountaintop? Or maybe the lost city of Atlantis?” Other Harry questioned.

“What about another planet?” Other Tom added on.

“Could.. Hmm.. I can always just create a room, of course.”

“Better be somewhere my Tom can’t just claim was manipulated by you when he loses,” Native Harry commented.

“Lose?” Native Tom scoffed. “I won’t  _ lose!” _

The other three people in the room ignored him completely.

“How about the dueling room at the Ministry?” suggested Native Harry. “I could probably get us in.”

_ “Boooringgg,”  _ Other Harry (OtHarry??) whined.

“What about..” ImposTom eyes gleamed with an idea.  _ “THE MOON.”  _

“Would we even be able to cast spells in such low gravity?” asked Native Harry dubiously.

“That’s your problem, man,” Other Harry replied.

“Why don’t we just go to  _ Mongolia _ ,” muttered Native Tom sarcastically. 

“HELL YEAH MONGOLIA. Tom you’re on the side of the Mongols,” Other Harry stated immediately.

“What does that even mean,” Other Tom asked, though with a tone saying he most definitely did not want an answer.

“That was sarcastic!” objected Native Tom, a note of panic in his voice. “I don’t want to go to bloody Mongolia! It’s too far to apparate, anyway.”

“Nope! You chose the place, you can’t back out now. Nor say that we’re cheating based on location,” ImposTom nodded.

“You think  _ apparition _ is going to stop me??? Who do you think I am?? Some pansy Death Eater??” OtHarry exclaimed. “Oooh, let me travel across entire  _ dimensions _ but Mongolia? Nah, that’s too far.”

“Well,  _ I _ haven’t quite mastered the art of  _ dimension travelling _ , so it’s a fair question to ask,” Native Harry pointed out. 

ImposTom looked thoughtful. “What if.. we go back in time and duel with the Mongols?”

Just as OtHarry started to get an excited look-

“No!” exclaimed both Natives simultaneously, for the first time sharing a look that was  _ completely _ in agreement. They subsequently looked away in disgust. Trying to divert the topic, Native Harry continued. 

“OK, so, if we’re going to Mongolia,” because honestly? That wasn’t the worst idea he’d heard. Not when the  _ moon _ was on the table as an option, anyway. “How are we going to get there if not apparition?”

The dimension-travelers shared a look, and then, without warning, there was a hole beneath their feet that they were falling through.

“Aaaaargh!” screamed both Natives, not used to this means of travelling. The ground was getting closer and closer-

Then, about ten feet off the ground, the air suddenly seemed to thicken rapidly, becoming almost…elastic. An inch off the ground, they bounced back into the air, repeating the action a few more times before they came to a total stop a foot off the ground. And then they dropped. Again. But this time, the ground didn’t bounce.

“Ow,” groaned Native Harry, rubbing his nose which had slammed into a rock. 

“What are you complaining about?” grumbled Native Tom. “I feel like I’ve broken a rib!” He winced. “Master,” he added begrudgingly. 

Other Harry was sitting on the ground next to them, looking perfectly fine, not even dust on his clothes.

“Where’s Tom,” Native Harry asked, looking around.

“I’m here, master,” said Native Tom in an annoyed tone of voice.

“Not  _ you _ .” Harry rounded on him. “I know where  _ you _ are. I meant the other Harry’s Tom.”

“Tom.. fell a bit further,” Other Harry answered.

“How can you fall  _ further _ ?” asked Native Harry warily. 

Suddenly, a head appeared halfway out of the ground, translucent like all of the ghosts at Hogwarts. “Master, what the actual hell.” Other Tom, who was apparently a ghost, climbed the rest of the way out of.. Underground.. And proceeded to turn tangible again, sitting on the ground next to his Harry.

“Don’t tell me you actually went to Hell,” said Harry, half-joking, but also half-serious considering the stories he’d heard so far that day. 

“Went to Hell? Bitch,  _ I’m the king!”  _ Other Tom grinned. “That has nothing to do with this power, though.”

“Look, are we actually going to start this duel or not,” Native Tom grumped. “You’ve dragged us out here to do one, so let’s start already. Also, I hope you don’t expect me to duel without a wand, master,” he said to Harry, moderating his tone slightly, a gleam of greed in his eyes. Native Harry got a deer-in-the-headlights look. 

“But don’t you want to know how Tom died?” OtHarry asked innocently.

“No, he doesn’t,” Other Tom said quickly. Side-eying Other Tom, and seeing how he was saying ‘no’ with big arm gestures and exaggerated mouth movements.

“Yes…?” he replied, tentatively. 

Other Harry grinned. “He tripped down some stairs and cracked his head open, fell unconscious, and bled out very quickly upon entering another universe, and now he tries to avoid the landing in them at all costs.”

“But...didn’t you try to help him?” Native Harry asked in confusion. After all,  _ he _ knew a few healing charms which could at least slow the bleeding for long enough to get help; surely this other Harry who’d been around for a while would know more magic than he did?

“I was too busy laughing,” Other Harry replied without a shred of shame.

_ “It’s not funny!” _ ImposTom exclaimed.

Other Harry looked at his Tom. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It wasn’t funny--it was  _ hilarious.”  _ Native Harry just looked horrified. 

“Duel!!” interrupted Native Tom rudely. By this point, he was rather fed-up with the visitors and, having been tempted with the opportunity to actually do magic, something he had been prevented from doing for more than three months, he was getting rather tired of it being delayed by inconsequential stories. 

“Fine fine,” Other Harry agreed, “but one more thing.”

“No! No more of your insane stories! Let’s get to the duel!” exclaimed Tom in frustration. 

Other Harry calmly looked at him, tilting his head in confusion. “I was just going to mention a prize for the winner.”

“A prize?” the natives repeated, once again in unison. This time, they refused to look towards each other, both of them deciding to ignore the fact that they had clearly been thinking along the same lines for the second time in ten minutes. 

“How about this-” Other Harry started, the gleam in his eyes looking a little too amused for what’s about to happen, “If you win, Riddle, then I will personally remove the collar for you and declare you free.”

Native Tom and Harry just stared at him for a moment.

“Can you actually do that?” asked Native Harry, a note of doubt in his voice. “Lady Magic said that we were so interwoven that even  _ She _ didn’t want to pull us apart. That’s why I’m the only master that Tom will ever have, and why when I die, Tom will die too.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed easily. “I can do much more than that, though. In fact, even without the collar, your Tom poses no threat to me.”

“Prove it,” said Native Tom challengingly. 

“Tom,” Other Harry’s eyes turned cold,  _ “Kneel.” _

Before he even knew what was happening, Tom was forced to his knees. He gaped, wondering what had happened. He hadn’t felt a twitch from the collar, not a single shock of pain. He’d just...been standing, and then he was kneeling. He tried to get up, but it was like his body simply wasn’t responding to him. A wave of terror rolled over him - with the collar he could at least  _ choose _ whether or not to follow the command, depending on how much pain he could tolerate, but with this…

Other Tom--Other Harry’s  _ actual slave _ \--was still standing, with a neutral look on his face.

“And  _ that  _ is why you prove no threat,” Other Harry murmured. “That’s what’s scary about being me--my Tom’s Right of Conquest transfers to  _ any _ and  _ all _ Tom Marvolo Riddles, no matter what dimension.”

“That doesn’t technically mean that you can remove the collar, though,” pointed out Native Harry, not sure how he felt about the revelation of this other Harry’s control over his slave. “I mean, really, the collar responds to me as its master, but  _ I _ can’t take it off. Regardless of this other sort of...control that you have, where’s the proof that you can take the collar off?”

Other Harry’s amused look only grew. His Tom was still standing by him, watching with a blank look as this all went down. Harry stepped forward, until he was standing in front of Native Tom, still forced to kneel. “Do not  _ move.” _

He leaned down, taking Tom’s collar off without a single problem. For a moment, Native Tom was completely stunned. He’d hoped...but he hadn’t dared to believe that it was possible. Then, in the next moment he stared at that hated band of magic-infused fabric dangling limply from the hands of the other Harry and he felt a loathing of a strength he had heretofore felt only for Dumbledore. Summoning his magic,still unable to move from the Other Harry’s orders, he prepared a wandless spell that would blast the damn thing to pieces. 

Just as he was about to cast it, though, he suddenly felt the building magic subside into nothing. What? He looked around frantically, only able to move his eyes. And then he saw it - the other Tom was looking at him, holding a hand out. Somehow, Tom  _ knew _ that this was the reason he had failed to cast the spell. He glared at the man with the force of a thousand suns. 

In a voice only the two Toms seemed to hear, that was as hard as frozen steel and just as warm, Other Tom murmured, “Do not hurt my master.”

While Native Tom had been distracted with ImposTom, Other Harry had clipped the collar back on before he’d even noticed. When he realised the band was back around his neck, Native Tom felt a weight of despair crush him once again - the brief instant without it making its burden feel greater, for all that the collar itself was almost weightless. He choked down the urge to sob, unwilling to look weak. Along with his despair, though, he felt an equal amount of determination to win - now that he knew this Other Harry was capable of fulfilling his promise, he would do  _ anything  _ to achieve the prize.

OtHarry leaned down once more and whispered into Tom’s ear. “I release you from your orders.”

Tom felt himself collapse, no longer held up by the power Other Harry apparently has over him.

“Harry,” Other Tom looked at his master, a frown lining his face.  _ “Red.” _

Other Harry paused, literally just froze in place, until he slowly moved to make eye contact with his Tom with a frown.

He looked between him and Native Tom, then back to his Tom with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re being cruel.”

For whatever reason, OtHarry seemed to accept that and gave a short, jerky, nod. Native Harry, seeing that whatever had been going on between his Tom and the Other Harry had finished, stepped forward. He really,  _ really _ wasn’t sure about this whole thing now, but it seemed rather too late to stop it happening. Besides, he found it unlikely that his Tom would  _ actually _ stand much of a chance of winning - the whole being able to turn intangible at will was a game-changer by itself; who knew how many other secrets this strange duo were hiding up their sleeves? So yeah, Harry wasn’t too worried about his Tom getting free. Though, he had to wonder how his Tom would react to having freedom dangled in front of him, only to be ripped away. It seemed...cruel. Hmm, maybe that was what ImposTom had been talking about? 

“Shall we get this going?” he asked, resigned to the whole affair. “Ah, but Harry, can you send me back to Grimmauld Place for a moment? I need to get Tom’s wand.” He looked embarrassed. “I... didn’t think about it before we left.”

Other Harry didn’t say a word, but held out his hand which suddenly held the yew wand. Native Harry’s eyes bulged in surprise. Yep. Definitely had secrets up their sleeves - summoning an item from halfway across the world, through two sets of wards was  _ not _ something most (if any) people could do. 

“Before we start,” Other Tom started, gaining everyone’s attention, “I would now like to choose what prize  _ I _ would win.”

Other Harry didn’t look surprised at all. Instead, he just summoned a.. Glass of chocolate milk? With a very strange and weirdly twisted looking straw.

ImposTom’s eyes lit up.  _ “YES.” _

Native Harry looked between them in complete bemusement. 

“So to one Tom you offer his heart’s desire, and to the other, you offer him...chocolate milk?” Native Harry smirked at him.

“That  _ is _ my heart’s desire,” ImposTom objected. He walked over to Harry, snatching the wand out of his hand. “I’ll take that.”

Other Tom didn’t even hesitate in walking over to Native Tom and holding it out, apparently having no attachment to something so vital to Native Tom’s life. Native Tom took it, a gleam of hunger and greed lighting in his eyes as he felt his magic connect with his faithful wand once more. It had been so long… He caressed it, feeling it’s smooth silkiness beneath his fingers, paying no mind to the rather obscene gesture he was making. 

“I’d say this is getting into uncomfortable territory but I’m quite enjoying the show,” ImposTom commented.

Native Harry cleared his throat, not quite sure why the sight of Tom...stroking his wand was making colour rise in his cheeks. 

“OK, Tom, during this duel, and only when I say ‘start’, you are allowed to use any type of magic on this other Tom.” He hesitated and looked at OtHarry. “Would you like me to forbid any instantly lethal magic like the Killing Curse?” 

Instead of Harry answering, Tom spoke for him, “If he can hit me with the killing curse and make it stick, I’ll ask Harry to thank him for me.” Native Harry raised his eyebrows at Tom speaking for the other Harry, but when his counterpart didn’t say or do anything to refute the assertion, he just shrugged and turned back to his Tom. 

“Looks like you can use  _ any _ magic, then. When one of us says ‘stop’, you must stop immediately or be incapacitated by the collar, but if it’s the other Tom saying it, you win. Is that OK with everyone?” he asked, glancing at the two dimension travellers.

Other Harry nodded, and Other Tom was quirking his mouth into a smirk, looking far too excited for what was probably going to be a one-sided match. “Sounds fine to me. Oh, also, if you ever hit me with the killing curse, I’ll count it as an automatic win for you.”

“Good,” Harry said, nodding his head. “OK, both of you, go find a place to start.”

“Prepare to lose miserably,” Native Tom snarled at Other Tom, his eyes alight with fire as he then strode off to a spot further away.

“Joke’s on you, I’m  _ always _ miserable!” ImposTom responded, sounding way too cheerful for the statement, but proceeded to take his place on the field.

“You don’t even have your  _ wand _ out, you amateur,” Native Tom smirked, his tone far too gleeful for someone who was likely to get his ass handed to him, in Native Harry’s opinion. Because, yeah, ImposTom didn’t have a wand out, but so far, he’d already demonstrated magic without it, and if he could be as confident as he’d been so far without one, Harry had to suppose that he could back it up. 

Other Tom shrugged. “Don’t need one.”

“Alright, three...two...one...start.”

Native Tom immediately, and predictably, led with a sickly green  _ avada kedavra _ . ImposTom whipped up a mirror out of nowhere and watched the curse reflect back straight towards Native Tom. Cursing, not with his wand, Native Tom quickly ducked, but used the movement to transition into a blasting curse, which was quickly followed by a powerful binding spell hidden in its light. ImposTom raised an eyebrow, then ducked at just the right time for both of them to fly over his head. 

While he was moving, Native Tom moved into a Dueller’s Hello - a  _ stupefy _ followed by a  _ glacius _ shot at Tom’s feet and two Exploding Hexes to either side of Tom. Watching from the side, Native Harry had to admit that he was impressed by both the speed and the fluidity of his Tom’s casting. 

“Is.. Is that it?” ImposTom raised his hand and the curses all bounced off a shield shaped like a beehive, too many tiny hexagons to count. The spells all exploded in their own way at the ground, whipping up a dust cloud (and a miniature ice rink) that gave ImposTom a chance to hide his position, if he were to move.

Native Tom, gritting his teeth at the taunt, took advantage of ImposTom’s obscured vision to apparate silently to the other side of the dust cloud and start preparing a longer incantation. Since he was muttering it under his breath, no one else knew exactly what he was doing, but when the earth started rumbling and cracking beneath the dust cloud, they had an idea. When Tom had completed the spell, a great fissure opened cracking the plain on which they stood in half. Then, he stood, looking tired, but triumphant. 

The dust cloud soon cleared away to show ImposTom, standing on thin air over the middle of the fissure, except.. Was he  _ yawning?! _ Other Tom looked straight at Native Tom with a tired look, slowly walking towards him with his hands in his pockets, despite the fact, and Native Tom was sure of this fact, that there was no ground beneath him.

Fixing him with a disbelieving look, Tom made an inarticulate noise of frustration.

“ _ Fiendfyre, _ ” he cried, a great basilisk coiling out of his wand. “ **_Kill him_ ** ,” hissed Tom, perhaps forgetting that, given that this Tom was his counterpart, he would probably be equally capable of using Parseltongue. The basilisk hissed an acknowledgement and shot forwards, encircling Other Tom and starting to constrict its coils. 

**_“Aren’t you the cutest?”_** Other Tom cooed, gently stroking the scales of a basilisk made of _fiendfyre._ **_“How would you like to be even more powerful?”_**

The snake hissed an agreement, to Native Tom’s aghast horror. He tried to cut the magic to the spell, but it wasn’t responding to him anymore. Instead, it seemed to be fueled by, if Tom had to take a guess, Other Tom.

And suddenly the basilisk was growing bigger,  _ so much bigger, _ in size, and.. Sprouting wings??? Also growing feet- Was he turning the snake into a  _ dragon??????? _ The basilisk-dragon took off into the sky, growing three more sizes and breathing molten fire out of its mouth, letting out a ferocious roar that would leave weaker men quaking in their boots. Native Tom wasn’t sure how that was really possible, because the dragon was still made of fire, and thus, had no vocal cords.

Native Harry looked at OtHarry in some concern, seeing him smirking at the sight, a hint of pleasure in his eyes.

“Um, is my Tom going to...you know... _ survive _ this?” he asked tentatively, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer. Because honestly? Tom dying would solve a lot of problems, but on the other hand...he’d probably have a lot of explaining to do and...well, despite what Tom had done as Voldemort, he wasn’t sure that the man deserved to  _ die _ , especially when he was already being punished by having become a  _ slave _ . 

Other Harry quirked his lips, shrugging. Native Harry stared at him.

“That wasn’t an answer…” Then he frowned. “Wait, have you...you haven’t actually spoken since your Tom said ‘red’.” He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Did he cast a spell on you, or something?” 

OtHarry shook his head, then shrugged again, this time more from indifference.

“That wasn’t an answer!” cried Native Harry again in frustration. Then he calmed himself down. The other Harry had shaken his head, so he guessed it was just another one of the weird quirks these guys had. Far be it to try to interfere with another person’s relationship. Still, about his earlier question… “Fine, if you can’t speak for some reason, or don’t want to, at least you could nod or shake your head. Is my Tom going to survive this?” In the meantime, the massive basilisk-dragon had started its dive towards the white-faced Tom on the ground, his wand shakily held up as a barrier. 

Other Harry looked thoughtful, then nodded. Native Harry nodded in return, not really sure how he felt about it, but figuring relief was the most politically correct one. 

Native Tom cast the most powerful  _ aguamenti _ spell Harry had ever seen (or maybe it was a different spell which also produced water), a pillar of water emerged from his wand and twisted into the shape of a hydra, standing twenty feet tall. Big as it was, it still seemed small compared to the immense dragon bearing down on him. Tom seemed to realise this as sweat beaded on his forehead and he pumped more magic into the beast, increasing its size by a paltry five feet in height. As the dragon got into range, he cringed away, the hydra spitting at the approaching behemoth and then throwing itself bodily at the attacking creation. 

The dragon didn’t even pause in its descent, breathing a puff of hot air that immediately evaporated any sign of the hydra, and then, at the last second, flapped its wings and took off into the sky with a sharp turn, never even trying to touch Native Tom.

As it flew away into the distance, ImposTom yelled after it, “Be free, my love! Live your life to the fullest!” 

The dragon slowly dissipated as it flew further away. Native Tom stood up from his crouched position, his expression of fear clearing as he realised he wasn’t suddenly going to be immolated. It immediately turned into anger and he raised his wand once more, casting his favourite spell...multiple times. In fact, he veritably rained  _ crucio _ s down on Other Tom, casting them in all areas around Tom to be sure to get him at least  _ once _ . As Unforgiveables, they couldn’t be blocked by a shield, and  _ this _ time, he’d been sure to load each of them with enough power to break through a mirror, should his counterpart try the same trick again. 

Other Tom didn’t even try to dodge, looking at the bright red streams of light coming his way with a bit of amusement, but more just looking.. tired by how predictable of an attack this was. He didn’t even try to cast a shield or summon a mirror or  _ anything _ , just let the spell hit him straight on. Native Tom’s face broke out in a triumphant grin that he had  _ finally _ managed to land a spell, though the fact that the other Tom hadn’t even tried to avoid it made him feel some misgivings. He looked forward to hearing the long-awaited screams of agony that the other Tom surely deserved, after everything he’d had to go through today.

And.. nothing. Not a flinch, definitely not a scream. Just.. ImposTom standing, hands again in his pockets, looking exactly the same as he had only a second ago. Native Tom’s expression fell. He started to wonder whether he  _ could _ actually win this, despite how confident he had felt at first. Native Harry echoed his thoughts.

“Is he even having  _ fun _ ?” he asked OtHarry. “I mean, he hasn’t even cast a single spell yet. Unless you count the whole thing with the Fiendfyre, but that was technically my Tom’s spell so…”

“You’re not going to win this,” Other Tom said tiredly, serious for once. “It was useless from the beginning.”

“You don’t know that!” snarled Native Tom, clenching his wand tightly. He summoned his magic in both his wand and his other hand, dual-casting a flurry of spells, none of which hit ImposTom. From the sidelines, Native Harry drew in a breath at the sheer impressiveness of the magical feat he saw before him. Very few wizards were capable of dual casting with two  _ wands _ , let alone a wand and  _ wandless _ magic. 

Finally, Native Tom stopped, panting, almost collapsing from completely depleting his magical core in less than ten minutes. The area around them was torn up and pock-marked with the effects of the deflected spells, a small fire burning in some dry grasses. Screaming in frustration, Native Tom threw his wand at Other Tom in a futile gesture of anger. It just bounced off ImposTom and dropped to the ground, letting out a sad spark of light.

“Attack, damn you! Why don’t you attack me?!” he yelled, a note of despair entering his voice. 

“.. There’s no point. I can win just as easily by letting you and your anger run its course. I know what upsets you the most, I can predict your every move, because  _ I am you,”  _ Other Tom sighed.

“Predict  _ this _ ,” seethed Tom, storming up to his counterpart and drawing his fist back to punch that smarmy, smug  _ arse _ right in the face. 

Before Native Tom could even  _ try _ to throw the punch, he felt something sharp--a  _ sword _ \--pricking at his throat. One wrong move and no magic could save him. He tried to back away, the punch (and anger) forgotten in his sudden terror of dying in such a mundane way, but the sword held true to its target. Catching his heel in one of the holes he had created, he tripped over the uneven terrain and fell backwards. ImposTom used it to his advantage and pressed him even further into the dirt, until he couldn’t even swallow without cutting his own throat on the tip of the blade.

“I can predict every move you make, because I would do the exact same thing in your shoes,” Other Tom didn’t sound boastful, just.. Sad. Upset. “You will not win.”

Native Tom thought frantically for a way out of this. He would apparate out, but suspected he’d cut his throat on the blade as he twisted into the spell. He didn’t have enough magic to even  _ attempt _ to do any spell wandless, and his wand was currently too far away for him to reach. Physical means had proved as useless as any other method he’d tried...For the first time in a  _ long _ time...Tom had no way out.

The words caught in his throat, but he had to say them. If not, the increasing pressure on the razor-sharp tip of the blade at his throat assured him that his counterpart would have no concerns with cutting his throat open. And...he didn’t want to die. 

“I concede,” he whispered, unable to produce the words at any louder volume. Closing his eyes in humiliation, he was barely aware of the sword being withdrawn. It felt like he’d been enslaved  _ again _ ; the loss of his prize tore at him as despair felt like it was crushing his chest. 

He tried to tell himself that he would find a way out of the collar by himself - he didn’t need this other Harry to take it off. Sure, it would have been quicker, and less effort on his behalf, but he would be able to do it himself. He refused to listen to the little voice inside that was suddenly doubting his own abilities, having been presented with a situation where they were nothing in comparison to someone else. Pushing away the feelings of humiliation and despair, he opened his eyes once more. 

A hand entered his vision. Tom looked at it for a moment, and then, with grudging respect, took it. Other Tom pulled him to his feet. Native Tom couldn’t meet his eyes, trudging over to where he had thrown his wand. Picking it up, he walked over to the Harrys, doing his best to hide the emotions he felt at his defeat behind a blank mask. Seeing the look of pity on his master’s face, he felt like throwing something at the man.

Native Harry looked away at the glare his Tom sent him, his eyes alighting on the gleaming sword ImposTom was carrying.

“Where did you get that?” he asked curiously. Was it a summoned item or…?

“My husband made it for me, years ago,” Other Tom answered, sending a look towards his Harry. Native Tom, seeing the look, started having a rather disturbing suspicion. He didn’t voice it, because even saying it might be tantamount to sacrilege, but…

OtHarry shared the look with his Tom, and then turned towards Native Tom, who couldn’t help but feel a hint of sickening dread pool in his stomach. “Riddle.”

“Yes,” he asked hesitantly, sounding as if he wasn’t sure whether he should add a ‘master’ to that considering what the man was capable of making him do. 

Instead of answering, Potter grabbed his hand and suddenly, without even a portal, they were in a completely black place, with no floors, no ceilings, no.. anything. Was this.. The void--room--that Potter had mentioned he could make? Why were they here?

“I want to apologize. I was.. Out of line, earlier.”

“...What?” Tom asked, completely taken aback. He’d been thinking maybe he’d been brought here for some sort of punishment for attacking the other Tom, not that his attacks had done any good. Or maybe for some other reason. But an  _ apology _ ?

“I never should have told you about your chance at freedom, especially knowing that you would have never won. I’m- I’m not trying to insult your powers, I am  _ distinctly _ aware of just how powerful any and all Tom Riddles are, but.. We’ve been alive for thousands upon thousands of millennia. There was no chance for you to win. And.. I’m sorry for being unnecessarily cruel, earlier, trying to prove my point. You didn’t deserve that, so.. I’m sorry.” Tom nodded slowly.

“You were never planning to let me go free, were you?” It was phrased as a question, but it was said in a flat tone. 

“I don’t- I don’t like to meddle in other realms, much. Especially not between you and your Harry. Any version of you. So.. no, I wasn’t. We knew it was futile from the start, and yet.. I still offered. And.. I’m sorry for being so cruel. It was never my intention,” Harry paused, then tried to explain. “I’ve.. Tom and I.. because we’ve been alive so long.. I lose sight of what crosses the line between fun and actually hurtful. And I crossed that.”

“Is that what ‘red’ means?” Tom asked, his voice sounding rather lifeless.Knowing that he’d been fairly defeated was one thing. Knowing that he’d never had a chance...he was almost impressed by the ruthlessness required to choose to do such a thing but...when it was  _ him _ experiencing it? It wasn’t so pleasant. 

“When my Tom says ‘red’, it means that I am to be quiet until I make an apology for what I believe I did wrong,” Harry muttered, “We.. developed it a while back, after.. My words ended up hurting somebody  _ really _ badly. I.. do not expect you to forgive me, but I do know an apology is still required.” Tom nodded again slowly.

“Can we go back now?” he asked, his tone forcibly neutral. 

With one last glance, eyes even greener than his Harry’s, they were back right where they were.

“Where did you go?” asked Native Harry in confusion. “And if you did go somewhere, why did you come back so quickly?”

“Quickly, master?” Native Tom asked, still in that neutral tone. 

“Yeah, you’ve only been away for a couple of seconds. You were there one moment, then you were gone, and then you were back again.” Tom glanced at Other Harry who just shrugged and gestured for him to go on.

“We were talking, master.” Native Harry eyed him, not sure whether he wanted to know what they were talking about. Given how lifeless Tom’s eyes looked to him, he decided that whatever had been said, he’d be better off not knowing. Instead, he looked around at the dimension travellers.

“So, now what?”

“Now for..  _ My prize,” _ ImposTom eyes gleamed with excitement, a direct contrast to Native Tom’s.

“Yeah, yeah, here you go, you impatient baby,” Harry drawled, summoning the same glass of chocolate milk from earlier directly into his Tom’s hands.

“So you’re talking again?” asked Native Harry in exasperation. “What changed?”

“I fulfilled the requirements for the ritual,” OtHarry replied in a neutral voice.

.. Was he joking..?

“Oh, right, Tom,” Other Harry continued, perking up a bit. Both Toms looked over, but Harry’s attention was already on his Tom, leaning in closely with each other. “I found something you might like earlier.”

Other Tom sipped his chocolate milk, leaning in closer to see what it was. Harry was holding up a device that looked the same as Other Tom had earlier--the one he was talking to Siri on. He spit out his chocolate milk in surprise of whatever he saw. “Is- Is that a shiny Mimikyu??”

Harry nodded. “Yup!”

What in the world is a Mimikyu?

The next thing they knew, ImposTom was down on one knee, looking like he’s about to cry, holding one of Harry’s hands in both of his, chocolate milk floating beside him. “Marry me.”

Both Native Harry and Native Tom looked aghast at the idea. They shared a look of disgust together then, realising they were sharing a look, immediately broke eye contact and made a conspicuous step away from each other. 

“We’re already married, Tom. You took care of that about 42,000 years ago,” Harry deadpanned.

“Well, I had to, otherwise you wouldn’t have even noticed my affections,” Tom replied, then started with the same mocking tone from earlier when describing how stupid his husband was. “Sorry Tom, but if you tell them straight to their face that you love them and it flies over their head, then they’re too dumb for you, you say right after I said “I love you” to your face and don’t realize.”

“You’re...you’re married?” choked out Native Harry. “ _ He’s _ your husband?!” And, Harry noted to himself, apparently  _ his _ counterpart was the completely dense person who wouldn’t recognise a love confession when it hit him in the nose. 

Native Tom, on the other hand, simply face-palmed as his suspicions were confirmed. Merlin, he hoped this wasn’t a prediction of what might happen in  _ his _ future. 

“I.. I told you that already, though?” Other Tom sounded genuinely confused.

“Uh, I think we would have noticed you saying ‘Harry Potter is my  _ husband _ ,” Native Harry told him, disbelief still in his voice. 

“But.. I told you he was my master, and that my husband was the Master of Death..? You.. did not get it?”

“You didn’t mention that they were the  _ same person _ ! How were we supposed to realise that you’d marry your  _ master _ ?!” Harry demanded furiously. 

“Uhh,  _ bye!” _ Other Tom and Harry disappeared from where they’d been standing, leaving Native Tom and Harry.. Stranded in Mongolia..

“Hey, wait!-” Native Harry yelled, upon coming to that realization.

A portal opened beneath them and they found themselves back in the sitting room of Grimmauld Place. Feeling dazed, Harry slumped back into the same armchair he’d been in when Other Tom had first arrived. Tom felt an urge to return to the same position  _ he’d _ been in too, kneeling in front of his master. 

A moment later, both of them were blinking at each other in confusion as the whole set of events from when Tom had dropped through the ceiling to their return to Grimmauld Place was wiped away. Not even Tom’s plate from the spaghetti incident remained.

Also, and there was no way they could have known this, but Mongolia’s land had been reshaped like nothing had ever happened.

“.. What the hell?” Harry muttered, then forgot what he was even confused about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to tell you.
> 
> I'm hoping y'all enjoyed, at least :D
> 
> the thought of Tom having a sword pressed to his throat was sending WONDERFUL thoughts to both of our heads, tbh
> 
> I sure enjoyed myself (and yes there'll probably be more to this coming eventually :D so no it's not completed I don't think)


	3. Cat Got Your Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imposter Tom has a bad habit of showing up at the worst possible times. This does not change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what to say at this point. Again, it is me, Vickironica, because Dragon has said they don't really like doing this part and I quite like doing horrible chapter summaries tbh.
> 
> But anyway here's a new chapter that nobody asked for.

“May we come in, Mr Potter? We would like to examine the slave in question anyway.” The Ministry worker asked, her tone making it clear it wasn’t a request. Sighing, Harry stood back and allowed them in. He led them to the sitting room and invited them to sit. A moment later, they evidently saw Tom. Following their gazes, Harry looked at it from their perspective. Tom had started trembling slightly from exhaustion about half an hour ago and when the collar shifted with his swaying, it revealed red lines on his throat from when he had accidentally choked himself. He had lines of pain around his eyes and mouth and his gaze was downcast. In short, he looked like exactly what he was – a disobedient slave being well-punished.

“Oh, is that...well, that must be him, right Mr Potter?” Mr Brown asked.

“I don’t tend to have strange men chained to my sitting room wall, so I suppose it must be,” replied Harry dryly. He immediately regretted his attempt at humour when Mr Brown blushed and looked away. “So, what is this about?” asked Harry, hoping to move the conversation on. Suddenly, his gaze was drawn by movement happening behind the Ministry workers. A figure appeared in the doorway, a very familiar figure… 

With a double take, Harry darted a look between the Tom chained to the wall and the Tom standing in the doorway who looked  _ identical _ . Then their eyes met and Harry clutched at his head in pain as a whole three hours of insanity unfurled in his mind. The other Tom...the other  _ Harry _ ...the spaghetti...the duel....they were  _ married _ ?! 

In the doorway, Other Tom took in the scene - Harry sitting staring at him, two people with their backs to him, and his counterpart off to the side...not looking so good. 

“I’ll come back later,” he decided. At that point, Harry broke through the speechlessness which the memory of his counterpart revealing his marriage to his nemesis had provoked. 

“Don’t go anywhere, you bastard!” he yelled, standing up and upsetting the tea-tray. Everyone looked at Harry, and then at the empty doorway he was shouting at. Looking back at Harry, their gazes seemed to express doubt in his continued sanity. Except for Tom’s: his gaze was just pained. 

A few moments later, the last two minutes had been wiped from all of their memories, the tea tray was back where it should have been, and the Ministry workers were starting their inquisition. 

“Did you visit Diagon Alley yesterday, Mr Potter?” Ms Filgrove asked briskly.

. . . . .

Harry’s hands grew tighter around his own cutlery as he caught the avaricious gleam in the Potions Master’s eyes when Tom had needed to stoop down in a pseudo bow to reach the fallen item. It’s his closure, Harry kept reminding himself. They would never have to be in contact with each other again – Merlin knows Harry wouldn’t want to repeat this painful experience. He tried to keep himself distracted with talking to Kingsley about the Aurors, his new endeavours in the Ministry, even reminiscing about the war in a desperate attempt to ignore what was happening on the other side of the table.

“My glass is empty,” Snape sneered. “Fill it,  _ Tom _ ,” he ordered, a malicious note in his voice. His jaw twitching as he clenched his teeth so hard he was almost surprised when his molars didn’t crack. Picking up the glass in a grip that he had to consciously relax in order not to crack it, he walked stiffly towards the door, deciding to take a moment in the kitchen since he had a good excuse.

Coming back with the full glass after taking as much time as he thought he’d be able to get away with, he noticed that there was a...cat? A black cat was walking towards the table, its long tail swaying in the air. Sitting down for a moment to clean a paw daintily, its red eyes met those of Tom’s. 

Suddenly, memory crashed back in. Before he could grab the cat to...do something to it, him, Tom (the cat) jumped up on the table. He weaved through the dishes on the table, gaining the attention of all three people currently sitting at it, and then started eating from the Potions master’s plate, munching on his beautifully cooked salmon. 

“Potter!” spluttered Snape, pointedly staying away from the cat as much as possible. “What is  _ this _ ?”

“It’s a cat, Severus,” Kingsley told him dryly, undeniably knowing that that was not what Snape had meant. Snape sent him a smoldering glare. 

“I don’t know,” Harry said in confusion. Snape turned his fulminating look onto Harry. “Don’t look at me,” Harry snapped in response to his glower. “I don’t  _ have _ a cat.”

“Let me, master,” suggested Tom smoothly, his gaze on the cat promising murder. Harry started feeling a bit concerned - exactly why did his slave hate cats so much? He wasn’t quick enough to express his misgivings, however, as Tom had already stepped forwards and had both hands around the cat’s neck, slowly throttling him. Harry gasped in horror. 

“Tom! No! Stop strangling the-” he met the cat’s eyes and briefly winced in pain. “Tom! No, the- Stop strangling the Tom cat. I mean, Tom!”

The cat broke free of Tom’s unrelenting grip, only by hooking his claws onto Snape’s clothes.

“Get off me, you blasted animal!” Snape yelled as the surprisingly strong small animal started pulling his robes off by dint of the claws hooked into his sleeve. Harry just looked aghast at the whole thing, though, he mused with a small bit of amusement, at least he knew that since the cat was Tom, the Other Tom, it didn’t really matter what his Tom did - Other Tom was immortal and all. Besides, after how one-sided that duel had been, it didn’t seem too bad for Tom to get a bit of revenge. And if Snape was upset into the bargain? Somehow, he was unable to feel too bad about that. “Somebody help me!” Snape yelled, by this point, his robes half over his head and preventing him from accessing his wand. Harry glanced over at Kingsley who just winked at him. Clearly he didn’t have any intention of interrupting the show either. 

Well, since the Minister for Magic didn’t see the need to intervene, Harry decided to settle back into his chair and watch the unexpected dinner-time entertainment. 

Tom was trying his best to pull the cat off of Snape, surely concerned for his well being, but without much luck. Snape, on the other hand, was buried under his unnecessarily long black robe, shuffling through trying to find an opening to break free through, but, again, with no luck.

Finally, the cat. The cat, Tom, Tom the cat, Tomcat, was enjoying himself immensely by using the chance to rip Snape’s robes to shreds, sending weird little cat-smirks human Tom’s way. He made some weird meow, a chirpy sound, and apparently human Tom took offense to whatever was said.

“I don’t have anything against cats - I have something against  _ you _ ! _ ” _

Another meow, this time accompanied by a small purr.

“I’ll roast you for dinner next!”

One more deadpan meow, then the claws digging into Snape’s clothes were removed, sending human Tom stumbling backwards and leaving Snape to deal with his robes himself.

The cat used the chance to free himself quite easily, then hopped back on the table to rub against Harry, purring loudly. Cat Tom had passed by both Harry’s and Kingsley's plate, so it had apparently only been Snape’s he was going after.

Harry, still enjoying the show, accidentally took to petting Tom without even realizing what he was doing. When he became aware of what his hand had been doing without his permission, he paused for a moment and looked at the cat.

“Do you mind?” he asked politely, figuring that he’d rather not rile up this...cat’s...husband. The cat looked up for a moment, then flicked his ear and rubbed his cheek against Harry’s hand. Harry took it as a sign to continue. 

“That’s one smart cat,” Kingsley commented, reaching over to rub the cat’s back once, then removing his hand once he’d had his fill of cat petting. Harry, meanwhile, had frozen at the thought of his counterpart arriving and seeing strange men petting his husband/slave. 

Luckily for everyone, Tomcat didn’t seem to mind the petting, basking in its glory and shoving his entire body closer to Harry’s. In the meantime, Tom was sulking. Deciding to make another attempt at getting rid of the cat, he stepped forward once more.

“I’ll get rid of this vermin, now,” he announced, reaching out to grab the cat.

“Nah,” Harry said, his tone casual. “The cat can stay. He’s enjoying the salmon, see?” Tom burned with jealousy that the cat was being treated better than  _ he _ was. Snape, however, had something to say about that. He’d finally managed to rearrange his clothes so he was almost back to how he had arrived - minus certain pieces of fabric in his torn-up sleeve - and was fuming at the situation. 

“Well  _ I’m _ not happy with the situation - he’s eating  _ my _ dinner.” Harry sighed. Annoyingly, the man had a point… 

“OK, fine Tom. Take him out of here. Tom,” he said, looking pointedly at Tomcat, “go with him.”

Tomcat gave Harry an agreeing look, partnered with a cute chirp, and then hopped into human Tom’s arms, who was not expecting that and flailed around, then glared. Of course, the glare had no effect because Tomcat was already clawing (but not harmfully) his way up Tom’s shoulder to make everything that much more difficult for Tom.

As they left the room, they heard Kingsley say: “So, which did you name Tom first - the cat or the slave?”

“What are you doing back here?” demanded Tom as soon as they were out of earshot of the dining room. “Didn’t you cause enough trouble last time?”

The cat leapt out of his arms onto the floor, doing some sort of flip and landing as a human. Well, a human, yes, but.. The same as last time, no.

“Wha- Why are you  _ ten?” _ Tom looked his younger self up and down, thinking that, yep, this was him when he was a kid. With the long black socks, old-style shoes, a fancy white shirt with a tie and some black shorts. He looked straight out of Tom’s memories of his childhood. It immediately set Tom’s teeth more on edge than they already were by this whole situation.

“Because I want to be,” Other Tom answered, shrugging. “Plus, in case either Kingsley or Snape sees me, they won’t automatically assume I’m you.”

“Well, don’t,” replied Tom sharply. “You look... _ weak _ like that.”

“I could still kill you without moving,” Other Tom retorted. “My looks don’t make me any more or less powerful, really.” Tom crossed his arms and looked away. As much as he wanted to refute the assertion...he’d thrown everything he’d had at this man during their duel and  _ nothing _ had even fazed him.

“I didn’t say you  _ were _ weak, I said you  _ looked  _ weak,” he grumbled. “Besides, why do you even  _ want _ to look like that. Our childhoods were...sub-par.”

“It’s much easier to reach Harry when I’m not a metre taller than him,” Child Tom shrugged again.

“Why would you want to...oh,” Tom stopped, his face looking green. Then a thought occurred. “Wait, if you’re this height it’s just the reverse - you’d still have a metre between you, it would just be the other way around.”

“You’re assuming that Harry likes to be any age over 12,” Child Tom deadpanned.

“He was clearly over 12 last time he visited,” Adult Tom deadpanned back. 

“That’s because he stole your Harry’s body.” Tom raised an eyebrow at him.

“Last time I looked, Harry still  _ had  _ his body. Ergo,  _ your _ Harry didn’t steal it. And he’s not  _ my _ Harry anyway. You’re the one who does that freaky stuff.” He paused. “Wait, do you do that stuff while you’re  _ 12?” _ Then he paused and held up a hand. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“We don’t, actually. But, by “stealing” I mean that we copied the looks exactly. I stole your body as well—usually I like to be in my early 20’s, and I have a bit more curls in my hair. Also, I’m not as thin as you, after years of eating whenever I want, and I’d like to think I’m quite strong, so muscles. You’re like.. A toothpick. My Harry, however, likes to appear around five years old and demand piggyback rides and use his cute looks to get what he wants. Sadly, it works a bit too well..” Child Tom sighed, apparently remembering past times where that had apparently happened.

Adult Tom sighed, putting a hand to his forehead. Once again, like always with this...person, he had a headache. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t had a headache before this, what with the whole dinner farce. 

“Tom, why are you here?” he asked eventually hoping that for  _ once _ the other Tom would give him a straight answer. 

“Harry gave me a job to do,” Child Tom replied.

“What’s the job?” Tom asked, again wondering whether he really wanted to know. 

“Matthew Sullivan. I’m supposed to kill him in about half an hour.” Tom stared at him.

“...Why exactly does your Harry want you to kill someone?”

“Because Harry can’t kill them himself.”

“Why not?”

“Last time he killed someone, they ended up as his slave for all eternity,” Other Tom murmured, obviously speaking of himself.

“Oh,” Tom replied, deciding he hadn’t wanted to know. But there was one other question he had…

“If you’re supposed to go kill someone, then why are you  _ here _ ? As in, in _ this _ house?”

“Oh, to annoy you. Also because I was hungry, and wanted to annoy Snape. It was like, three Pidgeys with one Geodude,” Child Tom nodded. Tom facepalmed. He should have known!

At that moment, Harry walked into the kitchen, saw the young Tom Riddle, took a moment to gape and then clearly reached the same conclusion as Tom - it wasn’t worth asking. 

“Tom, please get the rest of dinner. My Tom, that is,” he decided to clarify - having a child Tom Riddle coming with pudding would probably send things even more sideways than they had already gone. Then, turning, he disappeared back into the corridor. 

“Welp, that’s my cue, I guess. You get the rest of dinner, and I’ll go get Sullivan,” he said with a disturbingly blood-thirsty grin, made even more disturbing by the fact that it was on a prepubescent child. 

Just before he left, Other Tom stopped midstep. “Matthew Sullivan is both a murderer and a child rapist, and there’s nothing my Harry hates more than those.”

Then he was gone.

As before, the scene shimmered as everything reset itself, the memories of the time folding themselves into something so small in each of their minds that they were undetectable, and even time itself reversed to make up for the lost time.

That is, until the next time Tom (or Harry) decided to make a distinctly horrible appearance in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Native Tom: I have so many questions but I'd rather die than listen to you answer any of them.  
> Imposter Tom: What? All I said is that your Harry is so kind to indulge in your kinks.  
> Native Tom: please shut up


	4. In Which Tom Has a Blast, And Other People Do Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly as the title says:
> 
> Tom rants about cereal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no words. Dragon and I wrote this in an hour and a half because I was too busy ranting about their new chapter.

“My Tom is worth at least ten times whatever paltry sum you paid for Nott,” Harry hissed quietly, his eyes narrowed. “And when he’s released, I hope that he finds a way to pay you back for whatever you’ve been doing to him that’s over and above what  _ Death Eater scum _ like him  _ deserve _ .” There. That should communicate his anger clearly enough without inviting further scrutiny into his  _ own _ situation. Smith stared at him, clearly taken aback by his fervent rebuttal. Even Nott had glanced up, his eyes wide, though he quickly dropped them as soon as he realised Harry had seen him looking, flinching in clear expectation of punishment. Harry pretended he hadn’t seen anything, looking away deliberately.

Wait...Harry had a double-take moment as he caught sight of a familiar mop of perfectly styled hair. One moment he could have sworn it was there, and the next...gone. Darting a quick glance over his shoulder, Harry verified that Tom was there and then mentally shrugged. Must have been his imagination. 

Smith was talking again so Harry - reluctantly - paid attention to him, if only so that he could enjoy the other man’s discomfort. 

(A bit later)

Harry was at the table, suffering through Madame Bulwark’s  _ painfully detailed _ description of how she had mentally and physically tortured Avery until he had become the submissive creature currently eating from her hand and thanking her for every bite. He wished he didn’t feel obliged to be polite to her, given that she was the head of the Wizengamot, but… He might not need something from her now, but as he’d told Kingsley, he’d learnt how important image was the hard way. 

Then, his gaze looking across the tables, desperately hoping for something that he might be able to draw the attention of the  _ illustrious _ Madame Bulwark to, something that didn’t involve boasting about  _ abuse _ . A moment later, he almost choked on his drink as he spotted something that made him gasp as he was taking a sip. 

Kingsley pounded him on the back with a concerned look, asking if he was OK. Harry reassured him absently, still clearing his throat of the water he’d inhaled, but his attention was on the table at the far end of the room. He could see a man’s back, a man with dark hair and a build which was obscured by the robes he was wearing. An ordinary wizard, surely. But for a moment, when the man had turned around...Harry could have  _ sworn _ he had seen someone impossible - himself!

(Even later)

Harry sat to the side of the dance floor, occasionally resigning himself to speaking to someone who came to have a conversation with the  _ Man-who-Conquered _ . That was the downside of staying away from the dance floor, he decided. At least while he was dancing, he wasn’t expected to make banal comments about all sorts of topics he really wasn’t interested in. Some of them put Percy’s long, monotonous speeches about cauldron bottoms to shame. But Harry endured it, because that way, he knew his slave wasn’t getting into trouble while he wasn’t watching.

Then, something happened which drew not only Harry’s eyes but those of everyone in the room - and given what happened, probably everyone in half the  _ country _ . There was a massive bang, but it wasn’t just a bang. It was like a brass band had mated with a group of Jamaican steel drummers to make the most unholy noise Harry had ever heard. Not only that...there were fireworks too. Exploding in flashes of attention-grabbing colour, Harry could only compare them to the Weasleys’ Wildfire Wizz-bangs, but more....obnoxious.

As silence fell across the room, the live band stuttering to a halt, Harry heard a few strains of Auld Lang Syne from people who were evidently drunk enough to think it was already midnight, before the people they were next to shushed them impatiently. In the silence, the final fireworks exploded into three massive arrows that pointed...at the head table.

The head table, on which was standing a  _ very familiar figure _ . Harry stared at the figure, then he stared at the slave kneeling at his feet, and then back to the Tom who was  _ impossibly _ also standing about fifteen metres away. With a shaking hand, Harry prodded Tom on the shoulder, just trying to make sure he wasn’t just an illusion. No, that was flesh and blood under his finger. At least, he was pretty certain it was. 

At the touch, Tom turned towards Harry from where he had been gazing at the people in front of them. Of course, Harry thought, he wouldn’t be able to see. Knowing his face probably looked absolutely horrified from the concerned expression Tom gained in his eyes, he could just mutely point at the head table. 

Breaking protocol, Tom stood up, and Harry quickly followed suit, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Of course, no one had - they were all staring at the figure who had, insanely, began to...rant?

“Welcome to my TED talk everyone! In this essay, I would like to complain-  _ inform _ everyone, from the bottom of my heart, of the ruthless offenses brought against me yet  _ again. _ Simply because I have made a mistake or two, or perhaps even  _ three _ , does it truly warrant being banned eternally from kitchens? Never to be given a bowl of cereal, for fear of burning the house down with milk?” The Tom on the ‘stage’ put his hand over his heart, looking inconsolable and oppressed. “I ask you this, citizens, what offense would truly warrant the insult I have been shown? How does one live in these circumstances, denied what one truly deserves? How does one correct their mistakes of the past, if no one allows them the opportunity to fix what was once damaged? I hope, good citizens of this realm that I don’t care for, that my words have reached you, and that we can rise together in convincing my master,” at these words, the few people who had seen Tom with Harry at some point that evening turned around to stare at Harry, only to each gape at the fact that there was  _ another _ Tom standing right next to him, “that I should be allowed to cook once more—to be allowed in the kitchen, so that I may cook to my heart’s content. Thank you, everyone, for coming to my TED talk.” As he finished, he did a dramatic bow and, complete with hand motions, looking at the crowd with a cocky grin, met eyes first with Harry, and then with Tom. As one, they looked at each other.

“Oh,  _ no _ ,” they groaned simultaneously. “Not again,” continued Harry.

“Why does he always have to ruin  _ dinner _ ?” Tom moaned, and fell back to his knees, covering his face with one hand in despair. 

“Potter! What is the meaning of this?” Smith’s voice drifted over the crowd, coming steadily closer, but ominously. “Why is your  _ slave _ -” his voice suddenly cut off as he broke through the final people standing between him and the pair...only to see Tom on his knees next to Harry. “What the…” he gaped, darting looks between the Tom on his knees, and the Tom....who had vanished from the stage? 

Harry quickly looked around - the only worse thing than a dimension-travelling Tom was a dimension-travelling Tom  _ that he couldn’t see _ . Where had he gone? And how the hell was he supposed to explain all this if he had disappeared? 

“Um, it’s a bit difficult to explain…” he started, suddenly becoming aware that not only Smith, but  _ everyone _ in his vicinity was looking rather interested in his explanation. Interested, in the way that sharks were rather  _ interested _ in a scuba-diving tourist who was bleeding from the wrists, ankles and forehead. 

“Oh Mastuuuuurrrrrr,” a voice from the crowd, and how had Harry ever lost sight of him when he’s both a giant  _ and _ unnaturally good-looking. 

“Why are you here?” Harry asked, knowing his tone sounded completely exasperated. But frankly, considering the last time Tom had appeared, he’d ripped Snape’s robe half to shreds and destroyed dinner, and then the time before he’d defeated Tom without even trying...he felt he had good reason.

Other Tom looked far too gleeful at Harry’s tone, “Oh damn, it’s been a while since my presence has been so thoroughly unwanted in such a short amount of time.”

“Tom, you’ve caused nothing but mayhem the last couple of times you’ve come around,” Harry pointed out. “If you’re getting the unwanted vibes, maybe you should have decided  _ not to completely disrupt the Ministry ball _ ,” he emphasised, half-serious, but also half-not-serious because, honestly, there was actually a part of Harry that thought the ball was so much more interesting now than it had been before. Still, he had to at least have the  _ appearance _ of disapproval, didn’t he? “Can’t you just turn up when we’re  _ not _ busy?”

“Master,” groaned the native Tom from down near his knees. “Stop encouraging him - we don't want him around  _ at all _ .”

“Holy crap, I’m being vibe checked,” ImposTom’s grin grew. “Also, no, I can’t, simply because this is a  _ plot point!’ _

“A plot point?” both Tom and Harry asked simultaneously in identically wary voices, and then glanced at each other. Unlike the previous times this had occurred, they didn’t immediately look away again in disgust, this time they shared a look of absolute exasperation, understanding each other completely.

“A plot point,” Other Tom nodded. He whipped out the same device that he’d been on the first time he appeared, ignoring the flinches of all the onlookers. “I am absolutely  _ in love _ with this fanfic and- holy crap is that a new update?!” A painful expression crossed his face, but Tom forced himself away from the device. “Oh, that’s gonna hurt.”

Deciding that he  _ really _ didn’t want to know, although a part of him really  _ did _ , Harry just sighed. 

“Look, Tom, now is...not a good time for this, alright? How about you...sort this all out,” he said uncertainly, waving a vague hand around to indicate the people, the ballroom, perhaps the whole manor house, who knew? “Then, you could come visit tomorrow - we’re not planning to go anywhere or do anything so…” he ignored the outraged ‘Master!’ hissed at him from near his knees. Because honestly? If Tom wanted to visit, maybe it was best to give him an actual time that wouldn’t be  _ terribly inconvenient _ . 

Other Tom looked like he was about to accept when suddenly, a hand gripped him by the collar of his shirt and yanked sharply so he stumbled sideways into the man who had just suddenly...appeared. Harry was pretty sure he heard a few more jaws drop on the floor - at least all those that hadn’t already been there from the conversation so far. He didn’t really blame them - suddenly seeing not only two Tom Riddles, but two Harrys as well, had to be  _ terribly _ confusing. Merlin knew Harry himself could keep it all straight, and he had a bit of context to it!

“You are, in fact, busy, actually,” Other Harry denied out of nowhere.

“We are?” Harry asked in confusion. 

“It’s my birthday tomorrow! Wait, no, it’s today. But you guys  _ celebrate _ it tomorrow!” Other Tom said helpfully, not even trying to break free from the grip on his shirt. And then added, on, “Oh right, Tom’s breakdown.” No more context was given, as ImposTom gained a thoughtful look.

“Tom will not be joining you tomorrow, for fear of  _ my _ sanity, in this case,” Other Harry sighed.

“You love me.”

“I tolerate you, at best.”

“We’re  _ married.” _

“You burned our marriage certificate, claiming “good luck trying to return me without the receipt”,” Other Harry deadpanned.

“It’s worked so far, hasn’t it?” Other Tom retorted.

“Weren’t you trying to file for divorce a month ago?”

“You tried to  _ poison me. Again. _ ”

“Pineapple on pizza is not  _ poison.  _ It’s  _ delicious. _ ”

“I’m filing for divorce. This is domestic abuse I’m having to put up with.”

“My point.”

So saying, the two stepped through a dimension rift, still arguing. As everyone stared after them, everyone except for Harry and Tom completely baffled at what was going on - Harry and Tom, who had seen this before were a little less confused, and a lot more exasperated - they could all see through to void, its blackness with a purple tinge evoking emotions of longing and fear within their hearts.

“Wait,” Harry said, just before the rift fully closed, turning and looking down at Tom. “You never told me it was your  _ birthday _ today!” And then, as the rift closed, all their memories blurred once more and the ballroom returned to its previous state. Tom’s reply, had he thought of one, was lost forever. Or at least, until next time the dimension-travellers paid them a visit... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other Tom: Harry can we celebrate my birthday pls  
> Other Harry: we are literally thousands upon thousands of years old we do not have birthdays  
> Other Tom:  
> Other Tom: Harry I want a chocolate cake


	5. The Talk of the Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Tom have a long-needed chat, and Native Tom learns some things he'd rather not have known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. I'ts VOID. ;D I'm so glad I get to introduce myself as that now. This is my first time posting a chapter under that name (for any of you confused, I used to be Vickironica).
> 
> As always, Dragon and I had a lot of fun writing this, though we're definitely looking forward to getting back to the crack in the next few chapters. My Tom is so dumb sometimes, like I swear the older he gets the dumber he becomes.
> 
> To be fair Dragon's Tom isn't that much better.

Finally, Harry dismissed him and returned to his essay. He’d already written almost three feet, Tom saw. Tom smoothly got to his feet and went over to Draco who was lying on his side, his face and eyes as lifeless as always. Ordering him to stand and follow, the slave obeyed, standing behind his shoulder as he’d been clearly trained to do. Getting to the door, Tom hesitated.

“Goodnight, master,” he said, finally. Harry looked up, surprise in his eyes.

“Goodnight, Tom,” he replied. They held eye contact for a moment before each turned away and continued their previous actions. It wasn’t the first time they’d wished each other goodnight, but it _had_ been a while since the last time.

Tom walked up the stairs, Draco trailing him silently. As he reached the landing he realised that there was a shadowy figure standing in the corridor. As Tom hesitated, Draco stopped behind him, his head still bowed. Tom wasn’t sure what to do without his magic - who could have entered Grimmauld Place without Harry knowing about it?

“Who are you?” he demanded warily, ready to call for his master. The shadowy figure flicked on a light in his hand, a dim glow which didn’t illuminate much. Then, moving what Tom realised to be a torch up towards his face, he tilted it so that Tom could just see the faint lines of his face. A face which looked rather familiar, for all that a good portion of it was covered by a large pair of sunglasses.

“Hey kid,” the figure asked him in a gravelly voice, hiding a smirk. “You wanna buy some memes?” Tom stared.

“What the hell are ‘memes’?” he found himself asking almost without thinking. He shook his head and focused. “Wait, how did you get in here?” he demanded, starting to edge down the stairs a bit. Being trapped with a madman with no defence was _not_ his favourite way to end a day. 

The man flicked his wrist and, just as Tom was about to bolt down the stairs, a picture flickered into existence with a weird red ball-looking creature and a muffled “Do you know the way?” Tom just stared at it, completely baffled and vaguely hoping that it wasn’t about to explode.

Seeing his expression, the mysterious person burst out laughing and finally took off his sunglasses with a flourish and a huge grin. Meeting blood red eyes that looked far too similar, the memories came racing back, along with a very rude headache. Tom gave serious thought to his original idea of bolting down the stairs - somehow this was _worse_ than if the red ball had exploded. 

“For Merlin’s sake, what are you here for now?!” he demanded. “You’ve already crashed a dinner party -two, actually!- and a Ministry ball - what interest is there here for you now?”

Other Tom just shrugged, “I dunno, I finally escaped Harry’s wrath and was able to come back. Merlin, he can be a slave-driver sometimes.” Tom just glared at him.

“You don’t need to point that out,” he replied stiffly. “Well, if you’re just here out of _boredom,_ then excuse me for not obliging you by being your entertainment. I need to put Draco to bed.” 

Other Tom moved aside in a rare show of being less annoying than usual. Tom raised an eyebrow at the lack of a fight—he’d expected his counterpart to complain for at least a _little bit,_ knowing him, but.. Nothing. Instead, ImposTom had a solemn look on his face, one that spoke of knowing too much and yet looking it in the eyes. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Tom took advantage of his amenability to put Draco to bed, or try to at least. Coming out of his room, not having succeeded in getting Draco to actually lie down _in_ his bed, Tom rubbed his face tiredly. It had been a bit of a difficult day, all things considered. Seeing that ImposTom was still there, he sighed, leaning against the wall.

“Alright, what do you want?” he asked, hoping that if he could get the insanity out of the way, he’d be able to go to bed sooner - Merlin knew if he tried to go to bed this...man would probably just follow him and continue annoying him. 

“What do you mean?” Other Tom tilted his head, looking like he genuinely didn’t know the stress his presence caused Tom.

“Look, I’m tired, I want to go to bed. It’s been a long day and it’s probably going to be another long day tomorrow, given my new housemate. So honestly? Just tell me what you want so I can go to bed,” he said with a mixture of annoyance and tiredness. 

“It’s hard, you know?” Other Tom started after a moment of silence. “Looking at your mistakes in the face. The Draco from my realm—he didn’t suffer nearly as badly as yours, but.. I think I made up for it with my Harry.” Tom frowned at him.

“What mistakes?” he asked. 

Other Tom stopped, as if thrown off balance by Tom’s simple question. “Um, the way that we forced hundreds—Draco included—to bend to our will. The entire Dark Lord shennanigan, the murder, the _horcruxes._ ” A pause, barely a quiet murmur, “Harry’s- no, nevermind.”

“Ah, those,” Tom replied quietly, his sudden introspection caused by ImposTom’s words causing him to miss the final phrase. Playing like an unwelcome movie across his vision were Draco’s blank eyes, Avery’s drawn and famished features, Tiberius’ downcast look, the other slaves who had been so abused because of their loyalty to him. A sudden wave of guilt went through him, the feeling instantly recognisable from the pangs which had been hitting him all too recently. “Does it ever go?” he asked, the words slipping out of his mouth without permission. 

Neither had to guess at what he meant.

“No.” A small smile, jagged and broken like everything else in their lives. “It never leaves. It gets worse and worse and _worse_ and it bubbles up and Harry’s just so damn _kind_ all the time and it just makes you feel that much worse.” He took a deep breath. “No, it doesn’t. The guilt never stops, even when you’re trying your best to make up for everything, trying to forget the fact that you condemned your lover to _hell_ for his childhood, that you then _killed_ him, trying to move past _any of that.”_ Tom’s frown deepened in his confusion.

“What do you mean, that you condemned your lover to hell? And exactly when did we kill _Harry_?” he asked, completely bewildered. “I mean, I’m pretty sure Harry, both Harrys in fact, are still alive.” Sure, he’d been part of the reason Harry had been sent to the Dursleys, but although it had sounded as bad as his time at the orphanage, it didn’t seem to be worth the absolute self-loathing he heard in his counterpart’s voice. Casualties happened in war. That Harry had ended up with a family of abusive muggles had been at least partially Dumbledore’s fault, Tom was sure. 

Other Tom stared at him, as if sorting out his words. For a second, Tom could even believe how this Tom had been alive for far longer than he’d ever imagined, even while striving towards immortality. “Oh, I forgot. You still think your Harry is _human.”_

“Not human?” Tom asked incredulously. “What do you mean, not human? What is he - Veela?” Well that might explain why he’d started feeling some strange sort of attraction to his master, despite knowing that it would be the _absolute worst_ thing for him to feel. 

“You’ll learn soon enough, that things don’t change, however much you might want them to, even across dimensions.” And what was _that_ supposed to mean? “But yes, we’ve doomed Harry to far worse than anything we’ve been through, really. Though the orphanage can definitely compare.”

The one time Tom didn’t want him to change the subject. Of course.

“Alright,” Tom said, knowing from past experience that trying to change the subject back would be a futile endeavour, “what exactly do you mean by that? Yes, Harry admitted that they hit him, that they starved him. That they wished he’d never been born. But we had treatment almost as bad as that at the orphanage until we were able to use magic to defend ourselves. We had to suffer through _World War II_ , for Merlin’s sake! Surely that balances the scales?”

“You’d think so, would you? But no, we somehow got the better end of the stick.” Other Tom walked off into Tom’s room, Tom following behind. Entering, he saw his counterpart lounging dramatically on the bed, leaving Tom to take the chair, because there was no way he was going to sit next to that.. _that person._

“Why exactly did we need to come in here?” Tom asked with annoyance. “I was perfectly fine with you _not_ being in _my_ room.” 

Other Tom shrugged. “Thought it’d be comfier, seeing as you keep asking questions that I’m—for once—willing to answer. So go ahead, ask your questions.”

“Fine,” Tom muttered, sounding greatly put-upon, though privately still surprised that his counterpart _was_ actually answering his questions. Seriously, too, which was even more of a shock. “Why exactly do you say that we got the better end of the stick? We had to suffer through the cane at school, through the nuns’ physical chastisement whenever they felt like we had been _devilish_ or otherwise sinful, through the fear of _bombs dropping on our head!_ So yes, I do think that the scales balance in terms of general suffering.”

“That may be true, but..” Other Tom sighed, burying under the blankets a bit. “We were never raped.” Tom gaped at him for a moment, his jaw loose. 

“Harry was...was _raped_ ?” he repeated, stumbling over his words in his shock. Then his brows drew together. “He never _hinted_ at that,” he murmured quietly. 

“Not your Harry—mine. Each go through something a bit different at the Dursleys, and mine.. My Harry went through a bit worse. He was hit and kicked, used as a punching bag, forced to do _every single_ chore in the house since he was _four_ , whether it be cooking or cleaning or weeding the garden, and you’ll never guess what happened if he messed up. If he used accidental magic—something that children are usually _praised_ for. If he would make a sound at the wrong time or if he was in any way at all “freakish”. Harry, he didn’t even know his _name_ until he went to primary school and the teacher called out his name for attendance, and _of course_ he didn’t answer, because he genuinely thought his name was _freak._ The first time he spoke to a snake—the thing that got us through the orphanage and made us feel like kings—was when he was _ten_ , a week before he got his letter to Hogwarts, and he was thrown in a dusty little cupboard for a _week_ with no food because of it, only let out to do the most important of chores. So excuse me if I believe that my Harry got the short end of the stick between us. And _yes, he was raped. Repeatedly._ Even after he went to Hogwarts and was forced to come back in the summers. Especially then.”

“But what is the difference between what happened to your Harry and _mine_?” Tom asked, still shocked at the revelations. 

“The only difference is that the Vernon Dursley in this dimension had just a shred more fear than the one in mine: instead of _using_ your Harry for his own pleasure and sadism, he simply took out his fear and anger with his fists and his feet. That’s the only difference.”

“So the cupboard? The lack of a proper name? The punishment for not completing impossible chores? The starvation?” Tom asked, half-hoping for some sort of correction, for ImposTom to suddenly grin in that maddening way he had, revealing that it was all a joke. Because honestly, the thought that Harry had gone through that...that Tom had been responsible for condemning someone to something _worse_ than what he had suffered through....that in deciding to use horcruxes as his method to immortality, he had ended up working _against_ what he had set out to do...it was unbearable. ImposTom just looked at him, no hint of humour in his eyes or his mouth.

“All true for your Harry. Vernon and Petunia were a little more concerned about child services than the Dursleys in my original realm, but only enough to make sure the bruises were somewhere that could easily be hidden. Our Harrys rarely ever did PE for a reason. Their grades were completely average, if not below, simply because if he got anything better than his _extremely stupid_ cousin, then he’d face the consequences. I honestly don’t think he ever grew out of that, even in Hogwarts.” 

That explained a lot, Tom thought privately. It explained why Harry’s skills in practical magic had been so much better than his theoretical knowledge. It explained why the First year child he remembered watching from the back of Quirinus’ head had been such a quiet presence in his classroom: never raising his hand, and always turning in the minimum for homework. 

“He seems to be getting better at that now, though,” he commented quietly. “I’ve been...teaching him. He’s actually a surprisingly quick study, although he gets frustrated with himself very easily. Maybe he’s improving now?” 

“I wouldn’t know—the fanfic doesn’t go into much detail about those times. That being said, super sorry about chapter nine.”

“Wait, what?” Tom asked, his reflective mood immediately replaced by bewilderment once more. “Fanfic? Chapter nine?” Then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And why would you be _sorry_ about it?”

“I’ll tell you after chapter nine happens. I’m sure I’ll be there, probably punching someone in the face if Harry doesn’t stop me. We’ve never killed for fun but my Harry is the idea tempting.”

“ _My Harry_?” Tom mouthed almost silently, his mind racing. “Did you just use his name as a curse word? What’s wrong with Merlin, for Merlin’s sake?”

“Well, you see... I’ve met him. And after walking in on him boning Arthur one too many times- actually wait, let me rephrase that. My darling is far more powerful than Merlin, and not to mention that Merlin—or magic—doesn’t exist in a good portion of the worlds we visit.” 

“You don’t want to swear by Merlin because you walked in on him having sex with Arthur too many times - you _married_ Harry! I would imagine you’ve boned him more than a few times, to be crude about it, so why does that mean you’d use his name to swear by?”

“Because he’s my god.” Other Tom answered with no hesitation, as if he fully believed that sentence. “Also, it’s more of ‘him boning me’ if that’s the route we’re taking.” Tom frankly didn’t know which to question first, eventually deciding that ‘neither’ would be the option most likely to leave him at least _some_ of his regained sanity. 

“So what do you do in a world without magic?” he asked curiously. “Are you still capable of using it?”

“Of course, unless Harry restricts my access. But to be completely honest, I rarely use magic nowadays. I far prefer finding other methods to do the same thing—Harry is the one who uses magic constantly.” Tom furrowed his brow.

“But _why_ ?” he asked, unable to understand this counterpart of his who somehow seemed to have lost that...that _spark_ which Tom had always felt when he used his magic. To have it but choose not to use it seemed anathema to Tom. 

“Well, there’s far more to life than just magic, I suppose. And I know, it’s _magic,_ it’s the thing we practically lived for at your point in time, if I were alive that is, but I’ve found other things I like too. I like muggle sciences, I like inventing, I like when I surprise Harry with a new way to ruin his life.”

“Wait,” Tom said slowly, his brain replaying ImposTom’s words. “Did you say ‘if I were alive’? You mean you’re _not_?” he asked, as incredulously as when his counterpart had said that Harry wasn’t human. 

“I wasn’t,” Other Tom answered. “Harry killed me at the end of the Final Battle. Depending on which source you take, my dead body either evaporated into nothingness or just hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.”

“The Final Battle?” Tom asked with a frown. In his mind, what had happened was called The Event. It wasn’t really a battle when Harry had basically called in Lady magic as a strange sort of umpire. 

“Things happened a bit differently in your world. In mine, Harry followed Dumbledore’s plan and walked to his death,” Other Tom murmured, frowning at the ground. “And I followed through. I killed him.”

“Wait, I thought you said _you_ died, not Harry?” Tom asked in confusion. Except wait, hadn’t he mentioned something about that earlier? 

“Well, Harry has a bad habit of not staying dead when he should. So, of course, he got up and fricken murdered me. Was kinda rude.”

“What spell did he use?” Tom asked, morbidly curious. “Wait, don’t say it was _expelliarmus_ ,” he almost begged - knowing Harry and his obsession with that particular spell...but Tom would never live it down knowing that one of his counterparts had been killed with a _Second year_ hex. 

“It was _expelliarmus._ ”

“....damn,” Tom muttered blankly. It was official. His life was the result of some sort of bad story-writing. Hell, _Harry’s_ life was some sort of bad story-writing. 

“It was pretty pathetic, to be honest. Although, I think it’s worse that Harry’s never brought it up again. Like bitch, I know it was pathetic, but at least _joke about it_ so it stops being so pathetic.” Other Tom ranted, mostly to himself.

“I’ll never understand your coping mechanisms,” Tom told him with bemusement. 

“Well try being trapped in the void for a hundred years knowing that your only way out is through the benevolence of your new master, because apparently _dying_ made you a slave for eternity! And knowing that that person has absolutely no reason to give you anything but pain to the point of _wishing for death_ because of what you had done to him.” For some strange reason, Tom was actually feeling a bit... _sorry_ for his counterpart. And he’d never thought he’d be _grateful_ for his slavery, but if the alternative was what this other Tom had suffered? Was suffering? He’d take being a slave for less than a hundred years with his Harry over being a slave to a vengeful master for _an eternity_ . Merlin, before this whole conversation, he’d thought the worst that could have happened to him would have been _dying_. Apparently not… Although, he did have one question.

“If your Harry is like that, how did you get to the relationship you have now?” Because honestly, it didn’t _seem_ like OtHarry was torturing his Tom all the time; not from their interactions, at least.

“A hundred years alone with nothing but your thoughts and the absolute knowledge that you’ll be tortured for eternity—it.. It changes your mindset. You.. you caused a lot of pain for your Harry, but.. I caused _so much more._ I thought that I was going to be hoping for death by the end of the first day, much less _eternity._ Except.. When Harry finally arrived, he wasn’t angry. Not really, at least. Sure, he was a little upset at my past actions, but.. He’d rather avoid me than do anything painful. But my thinking had changed so much in that time that I’d figured out the only way to really _avoid_ being punished and all that was by being as submissive as possible,” Other Tom tried to explain. “I don’t know, Harry immediately offered me a way out of my slavery and I refused, though not just because of my mindset at that time. I figured that I was _really_ bad at making decisions, so I decided to.. Stop making them. Give that power to Harry, and then I don’t have to worry about the consequences of my actions. Like I said, the guilt never really stops, but back then, it was _full force._ I’d hurt Harry more than I’d hurt anyone else, and now that we had an amicable relationship, it felt like.. Like I _deserved_ punishment for my actions, and Harry refused—still refuses—to give it.” He shrugged, a strange air of acceptance in his movement.

Tom was silent for a while, staring at the flowery pattern on the duvet cover, just for somewhere to rest his gaze while his mind whirred. The strange thing was, he could actually _understand_ where this Tom was coming from. A little. And the idea that one day he might actually fall into his slavery so much that he would completely understand it, and would feel the same, was more than a little scary. Because honestly? It was already happening. 

Earlier that day, he had knelt unprompted in front of his master, had felt guilt bubble up inside him to the point where he had felt like he needed to offer Harry the opportunity to punish him to get rid of it. And the guilt he felt, knowing that Draco’s injuries were a direct consequence of his decision to become a dark lord… He would be lying to himself if he said that the thought that maybe this slavery was a just punishment for his actions hadn’t crossed his mind a couple of times. 

And it was so seductive. That was perhaps the worst part. It was true that Tom’s decisions had...not been the best. Merlin, wasn’t it evident when he’d heard exactly where his path would have led had Harry not chosen to do the ritual instead of killing him? The idea that maybe he could give his decisions over to someone else...but no. No one deserved that much control over him; no one had _earned_ that much of his trust. No. His resolve hardened. He had to get out of this collar. He had to. 

“You say that you’ve visited many worlds, some with magic and some without,” he started, looking back up at Tom. “Have I...or rather, has the resident Tom or Lord Voldemort ever won in any of those?” he asked, almost savagely, sure that he _must_ have won in at least _some_ of them. 

Other Tom stared at him, jaw clenched shut almost painfully. Instead of answering, he only brought out the device Tom has seen on his every other time. Other Tom tapped away at the device, and a minute later, he handed the device over to Tom. “See for yourself.” His voice had an odd note to it, and his grip on the device was almost far too tight.

Tom stared at the dimly lit screen, realizing this must be some sort of muggle electronic device of some sort. On the screen, in giant bold letters across the top was “Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins”.

There were _thousands._

Tom didn’t know how to use the device, but he still figured out the scrolling mechanism quite quickly, reading through the descriptions of each of the stories, because apparently that’s what they were, _stories_ , and sometimes through what he wouldn’t learn were called tags. Many were related to something sexual, all too often having ‘Rape/Non-con’ written in bold letters as one of the first tags. Especially with _Harry_ as _his_ slave _._

He didn’t know what to feel about that. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t occasionally - OK, more than occasionally - fantasised about what he would have done to Harry if the tables had been turned (all with a faceless slave since he didn’t want to be punished by the collar). But that had been more at the beginning, especially when he’d had to do humiliating chores and before he’d got used to kneeling and calling Harry ‘master’. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually thought about it and genuinely wished for the situation to be the other way around.

He’d even acknowledged that him winning the war wouldn’t have been good for the Wizarding world. He doubted he’d be any better as a master, either. And it wasn’t like Harry was _bad_ to him - everything he’d learned so far about the way slavery had happened in the past and probably was happening now told him...that he had a good deal here with Harry. When he was injured, his master had gone above and beyond what was necessary to heal him. He hadn’t acted on his obvious lust for Tom - yet. Merlin, even seeing Draco’s body told him that he’d had an easy run of it - Harry had never laid a hand on him in anger - the worst punishment he’d ever had was enduring _punire_ for a few seconds, or being chained to a wall until he was shaking and exhausted. Harry had even made sure that he was never hungry, unlike what had clearly happened to Draco, judging by his emaciated form. 

Not to mention, of course, this whole conversation, learning about what Other Tom’s Harry had gone through as a child with his muggle family… The thought of another of his counterparts taking Harry as a war prize and clearly acting as Draco’s master had behaved towards him...it made him uncomfortable. More, uncomfortable, strangely, than his earlier fears of falling into his slavery to the point that he didn’t _want_ to be free.

“The reason I like this world so much,” Other Tom started, snapping Tom out of his spiraling thoughts, “is because of how rare it is. Your story— _The Corruption of Power_ —is literally one in a _million._ For all that Harry actually won the war against us, it’s very rare for that to be the case in any other world. While you’re one of the only ones like this, there are _thousands_ of stories where.. Where Voldemort won. And from firsthand experience, I can tell you that _they’re not fun,_ ” Other Tom said, his voice void of emotion. “Nothing makes me hate myself more than when I go into a random world and the Harry there, covered in bruises from head to toe and far too thin, _flinches_ at the sight of me.” 

It was odd, considering the number of times that Tom had once fantasised about that very thing, both as Lord Voldemort and then after this wretched collar had been fastened around his neck, but...thinking about his Harry covered in bruises and flinching? He kind of understood what this other Tom meant. And it made him uncomfortable. More uncomfortable. Clearly, trying to distract himself from thoughts of his demise by thinking about _Harry’s_ defeat hadn’t worked. Frankly, he just wanted to forget about this whole conversation. Well, he had a pretty good way of doing that - from past experience, as soon as ImposTom left, so did the memories. 

“Alright, are we done here?” Tom asked, wanting to sound belligerent, but ending up just sounding tired. “You’ve had your fun and I want to sleep.” He knew he sounded a little bitter but...he’d never thought he’d wish _not_ to know something, but...this conversation was one he almost wished he hadn’t had. Almost. Certainly, the uncomfortable revelations about himself and his various counterparts were ones he could have done without. 

“Fun? Which part of this conversation was fun?” Other Tom asked incredulously. “Oh wait, do you mean the memes? Oh yah, I can get you more memes, don’t you worry there ol’ buddy ol’ pal. You know, next time I’m over we should watch Potter Puppet Pals. Definitely the best series in existence, plus it has the only Dumbledore in it that Harry won’t kill on sight. Well, no, that’s a lie, I suppose he wouldn’t kill A Very Potter Musical Dumbledore either, though it was kinda funny when Quirrel-”

“Just shut up and leave,” Tom snapped, the other Tom’s verbal diarrhoea simply more than he could take at that moment. He just wanted this whole discussion to disappear so he could go to sleep. 

“Boo, you’re no fun.”Tom didn’t dignify that with an answer, just throwing ImposTom’s muggle electronic device at him, hoping to hit him in the mouth so he would _stop talking_. Other Tom let out a small shriek, flailing to catch the device, accidentally playing an off-brand Hot Potato with it.

“You fiend! This is worth more than your non-profitable existence!! Though I do have it backed up to about thirty different places, and I did enchant this one myself so it’s about as indestructible as a Nokia, so I suppose it would’ve been fine.” Just as Tom is about to, once again, tell him to _shut up_ , or just storm out of the room and leave him to talk to an empty space, Other Tom does an informal salute and a rip in time and space opened up behind him. “Well, I suppose this is where I say _hasta la bye bye, daddio!!”_ He stepped through the portal, leaving Tom alone in his room thanking Merlin that the annoyance had _finally_ gone.

Just before the portal closed, Tom muttered, as an afterthought, “I’d prefer it if you _didn’t_ say that, actually.”

In the split-second after the memory of the conversation was once more locked, unnoticeable and undetected, in Tom’s mind, he found himself frowning at his duvet, sure that he was missing something, something important. And then the moment was gone and all that filled his mind was tiredness and the desire to sleep.

As for Draco, due to his unfortunate mental condition, his memory of meeting the other Tom, albeit briefly, was unable to be locked within his mind, and was instead destroyed completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Native Tom: yes finally this other weird Tom has agreed to answer all of my questions  
> ImposTom: *answers questions*  
> Native Tom: I am so sorry I asked, please take this knowledge away, I regret ever asking
> 
> ImposTom: it's free real estate now, birch

**Author's Note:**

> This is still one of the funniest things I've ever written tbh. If you have any questions about either set of characters, feel free to ask either author, or read the fanfic recommended in the note at the beginning! :D


End file.
